A Couple of Master Assassins
by LostInFandoms
Summary: How Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton met, and how they eventually became Hawkeye and the Black Widow, S.H.I.E.L.D's deadliest assassins. Rated T for strong language and violence. Clintasha.
1. Day 1, Budapest

**A/N: This is going to be about how Natasha and Clint met and became the Natasha and Clint they are in the movies. Please leave a review!**

Director Fury sat down in his chair. He'd be getting the first report on Agent Barton's mission soon. Barton was to take down one of the most deadly threats in the business right now – the Black Widow. Assuming Barton managed not do die trying, he'd then have to take down a drug cartel. His plane landed in Budapest in ten minutes, when he'd check in with Fury. They'd send a helicopter to pick him up once he'd finished, at coordinates that would remain secret until he was ready to leave.

Ten minutes passed, and Fury began the communication. Their conversation would be recorded, and Barton would be using his earpiece to converse with him. This was the only way they'd be able to talk for the next month. Fury made the call.

"This is Director Fury. It's 18:02, the 1st of February. This recording marks the start of Mission Black Death. Hawkeye, do you read me?"

"Sure do, sir. Landed safely, setting off to the given coordinates now. Any last tips?" Replied Clint Barton's voice.

"Try not to let her kill you."

"Thanks, sir. I appreciate it."

"Remember, the target is currently using the alias Natalia Romanova. She's currently undercover as a waitress at a restaurant. Details of the whereabouts have already been enclosed. Take her out from a distance. Good luck."

Static filled the silence as the line went dead. Fury leant back, waiting to hear if his best agent had survived.

* * *

><p>"It's 11:48, 1st of February. This is Hawkeye, reporting for duty. Sir, do you copy?"<p>

"Hawkeye, has the target been taken out?" Fury asked.

There was a hesitant silence on Barton's end. "Not exactly, sir." he told him guiltily.

"He is going to kill you." Fury heard a female's voice, cold and malicious.

"Probably." Barton agreed.

"Hawkeye, what's going on?" Fury asked. He was pretty sure he could guess whose voice that was. He hoped he was wrong.

"Well, I got eyes on the target, sir." Barton began.

"Yeah, and you weren't very subtle about it." The female remarked snidely.

"Would you shut up for a minute? Anyway, I turned away for a second and she was gone. Next thing I know, she's right behind me. Taking her out from a distance wasn't an option anymore. Being the more superior in combat, however, I managed to trap her-"

There was a laughing noise in the background. "Superior? Please, that was pure luck."

"I had you well and truly cornered."

"I could have gotten out of that if I wanted to." snapped the woman.

"You chose to have a gun to your head?"

"Hawkeye!" Fury shouted.

"Yeah, I had her. I was all set to complete the mission and take her out, but then…" He struggled for words. "I didn't."

Fury took a deep breath, forcing himself to count to ten. "Barton, you'd better hope you have one hell of an excuse, because-"

"Sir, I just thought, why are we killing her when she's one of the best spies in the world?"

"Oh, stop it." She interjected sarcastically.

"We could recruit her; have the Black Widow on our side! I suggested it to her, she's up for it. She's gonna help with the drug cartel –"

"Are you telling me that you've made an alliance with a known enemy and given her confidential details of a covert operation in one day?" Fury demanded.

"She's not _that_ bad." Barton admitted.

"She can't be trusted and you know it!" Fury told him.

"But-" He began.

"She's a spy; it's her job to deceive people. Use your head." Fury barked. This was the Black Widow, the deadliest assassin in the business. It was _almost_ as if Barton hadn't read through his briefing package. Imagine.

"Look, she's a bit of a sarcastic bitch, but she'll be an asset to S.H.I.E.L.D!" Barton argued.

"I'm right here." She said to him.

"We're going to find a safe place for the night, and then tomorrow we're getting to work on the drug lord." Barton informed him.

"I think I know a bit about the cartel; we were going to take them out until something more important came along." She shouted, clearly not aware Fury could hear everything on Barton's end.

"And she's going to help us, just like that?" Fury asked sceptically.

"Yes sir." He said.

"Barton, you can't be this stupid." Fury sighed.

"Goodnight, sir, I'll check in tomorrow." Barton said.

"Assuming your throat hasn't been slit." Fury interjected darkly.

"Over." Barton said before the line went dead.

The static began again, and Fury began to look for the paperwork he'd have to fill in when Clint was dead. Just so he was ready.


	2. Day 2, Budapest

Clint watched her clean out a cut on her shin. What the fuck had he done? He'd recruited the Black Widow. Deadly assassin. And she was sat on his bed. Maybe someone had slipped something into his drink yesterday. Because as she pulled out a silver knife and started subconsciously running her fingers along the blade, all thought of reform was driven from his mind.

And if he did manage to get her back to S.H.I.E.L.D before she murdered him, he'd have to explain to Fury why he'd decided to save her. Which was going to be interesting, because Clint had no fucking clue.

It was an impulse. That was really the only explanation he could think of. He saw her fight; saw how perfectly she executed her moves. He didn't often get the chance to appreciate such skill, because, well, he was Clint Barton. Not to be immodest, but he was freaking awesome. And when he saw her skill, he couldn't help being reminded of an extremely talented boy that had been saved by S.H.I.E.L.D. So he'd offered her a job, something that definitely wasn't within his power to do. He kept thinking; as long as she helped out with the mission and didn't murder him in his sleep, Fury could find her a place. He just had to survive the mission. Easy, right?

"Can I help you?" she snapped.

_Damn it. Remember, Clint, staring is rude_. _"_Nope." He said cautiously.

"You can relax, you know, if I murder you I won't get my new job." She said calmly.

"That's reassuring." He scoffed.

The morning light had begun to seep through the windows of the cheap hotel, along with a small sense of accomplishment. Who else could say they survived a night with the Black Widow? He may have been hiding in a corner on red alert the whole night, but still, that was pretty damn exceptional.

Watching her reflection in the mirror, he made his way to the bathroom. He began his usual morning routing, listening intently to make sure she couldn't sneak up on him. He really wanted to take a shower, but the idea of exposing himself like that made him feel very vulnerable. Who needed personal hygiene, anyway?

"So, I guess we're looking for the target today?" She asked, appearing suddenly at the doorway, leaning against the frame.

Clint spat a mouthful of toothpaste out at the mirror. "Holy mother of-" he began to curse, muttering under his breath. What was he doing? He was a spy. A good spy. An excellent spy, for that matter. Why should this woman turn him into a jumpy mess, just because of her reputation? He silently swore to pull himself together.

"Attractive." She smirked, looking at the toothpaste he'd managed to spray everywhere.

"Yes, we're looking for the target. You don't have to do anything, I'll handle the mission. You just have to not kill anyone." He told her, wiping his face clean.

"Why do you people just assume…? Whatever. If you think I'm just tagging along this whole time, you've got another thing coming." She said blankly.

"There isn't anything to do, we're just going to find out who he is. Right now we just have a name; we need to match it to a face." Clint said.

"So, what's the plan?"

"We know he's a he. We know he's meeting a client at 1pm at Café Ruszwurm today. So we get a table and keep an eye on everyone there until we find him." He informed her.

"Then what?"

"Then I talk to my boss, and he gives me further instructions."

"Not very independent, are you?" she sneered. "What if we intercepted the client and attended the meeting impersonating them?

"Because then when he discovers we're not the client he'll start hiding information, changing his safe houses and being more careful." Clint said.

"Why would he find out we're not the client?"

"We can't possibly gather enough information about the client that quickly to play them convincingly." He tried to reason. "Not when we're trying to fool a professional."

"Speak for yourself." She scoffed.

He wasn't too sure what to say to that. Clint didn't like not having something to say. She was messing with his head and she knew it. "We're sticking with my plan. You can either cover up that cut on your leg, put on normal clothes and come with me, or you can wait here all day. Your choice." He told her, and watched her scowl as he pushed past her out of the bathroom.


	3. Day 3, Budapest

She watched him carefully as he ordered pizza over the phone. They'd found a new hotel to stay in for the night. It was worse than the one yesterday. The carpets were stained with all sorts, alcohol, blood, et cetera. The sheets on the bed didn't look like they'd been cleaned for a good few years, and the chairs that she and Barton sat in were leaking so much stuffing she was surprised they were still standing. Ironically, she should feel right at home. She thrived in places like this, they were excellent for killing, torturing, and getting information out of people. The owners didn't ever ask, so she'd never have to tell. But it wasn't the type of place she'd choose when she wasn't on a mission. And having someone else there made her feel like she wasn't on a mission, because she worked alone.

Neither the client nor the target had shown up to the meeting yesterday, so they had to wait another day to see them. They'd identified the target and sent S.H.I.E.L.D their findings. They were all about reporting and sharing your position and recording things there, it was almost like they didn't trust this Barton guy to tell them everything. She couldn't blame them – she hadn't known him very long, but he didn't seem like the type to sit down after a mission and write a lengthy report.

She watched him tapping his feet on the floor as he ordered. Why had he saved her? She was used to men trying to go easy on her (it usually landed them with a bullet in their head) because of how she looked and what they'd like to get from her. But Barton didn't seem the slightest bit interested in that type of thing, in fact, he seemed to want to put as much distance between the two of them as possible.

He put the phone down. He was extremely funny. It was like watching a human and a spider. Merely twitching her foot would cause his hand to zoom towards his gun resting on the arm of his chair, and then he'd try to cover up his mistake by picking up the gun and cleaning it on the hem of his shirt, as if this had been his intention. What did he have to be scared of? If she wanted to escape her life, she couldn't hurt him, whereas he had everything to lose and nothing to gain from her continued existence.

They sat silently for a while, and she could see his discomfort growing with every second she remained still. Eventually, it was too much for him, and he broke the silence. "What's your name? Your real name."

"Natalia Romanova." She stated automatically.

"No, that's your current alias." He contradicted her.

"It could be my name." she said. "I don't really know anymore."

"You don't know your own name?" He asked disbelievingly.

"Does it matter?"

"Yeah! I mean, what do your – for want of a better word – _friends _call you?" He asked curiously.

She laughed. "I don't have anyone."

"Well, that sucks." He said.

"I don't _need_ anyone." She told him defensively.

"Whatever." He sighed, and they fell back into that perpetual silence. Again, she could see how uncomfortable he was, because he started to tap his foot nervously on the floor. That would begin to get annoying soon. She decided maybe some polite conversation would put him at ease a little.

"What's with the bow and arrow, Robin Hood?" She asked. 'Polite' was a little too much for her.

"My weapon of choice." He told her with a cheeky smile that made her want to use the string of his bow to strangle him.

"Yeah, why? Guns too mainstream for you?"

"I've just always been good at archery. I was raised in a circus." He admitted. "Ran away from the orphanage with my brother when I was little. Then S.H.I.E.L.D took me in and let me keep it up."

Natasha was a little taken aback by how open he was.She sincerely hoped he didn't expect _her_ to share anything deeper than her preferred pizza topping (at a push). "Circus? Can you do juggling as well? Or is the tightrope your thing?"

"Nah, I did the human cannonball in a leotard." He joked, with that smile again. It was sickening. What she wouldn't give to wipe that smile off his face…

Finally, there was a knock on the door. Barton practically jumped to get his wallet, out of which he found the money to pay the delivery man. She'd watched him withdraw money from a credit card machine earlier, and after memorising his pin card number, she'd seen the amount of money that poured itself out of the little slot. It had made her wonder why they were staying in this crappy hotel, but she knew better than to question the people who were technically in charge. "What's the pay like at S.H.I.E.L.D?" she asked, as he opened the pizza box and took a piece, then tentatively shoved the box in her direction. She didn't touch it.

"It's good, I guess. I don't really use it 'cause I spend most of my time at work. That's for you too, you know," he told her, gesturing to the pizza, "Assuming you eat food. Do you eat food?" He asked, doing that thing again. It was lucky he was her ticket out of her life, because that smile would have got him killed by now, otherwise. Still, she was kind of hungry. She picked up a piece and took a miniscule bite off the end. "It's not poisoned." He told her blankly.

"Why don't you use it?" She asked, referring to her earlier question.

"Dunno what I'd use it on." He said. "I've got an apartment, but I hardly ever stay there. I just keep it as a safe house. S.H.I.E.L.D provides everything I need."

"Do you really think S.H.I.E.L.D is even going to consider taking me on?" she asked.

"If you behave for this mission." He told her.

"It's not going to change anything." She said.

"Might do." He said optimistically.

"I've got too much red in my ledger." She said.

"You're just gonna have to show them that that's in the past." He told her.

Yeah, right. Most people were bothered by the extensive list of people she'd murdered, Barton was just the anomaly. People can't trust you, and being a spy never helps, because why would you trust someone whose reputation says they're going to kill you in cold blood? Maybe if she offered them enough information about their enemies, S.H.I.E.L.D might do her a deal, assuming she could give them anything of value. Her employers liked to share as little detail about themselves as possible.

Once the pizza had gone, there was more awkward silence. "You can have the bed." He offered.

"I had it last night, it's your turn." She said.

"Well, I'm nothing if not chivalrous." He said cheekily. God, she'd like to shoot him.

"I can manage. You have it." she muttered through gritted teeth.

"I don't want it."

"Take the bed." She ordered.

"I'm not tired."

"Neither am I." She argued. Which was a lie, of course, she was exhausted.

"Please, you didn't sleep at all last night. Or is the Black Widow immune to the call of sleep?" he scoffed.

"You didn't sleep either; you spent the whole night in shaking in that chair."

"Okay, so I'm a little cautious." He admitted. "Can you blame me?"

"Not really." She laughed coldly. "Your arrows won't do much good against me, Legolas."

"Are we done with the archery jokes yet?" He asked exasperatedly. "Just take the bed." He sighed.

"No way, I had it last night." She hated people thinking they needed to help her. She didn't need help. The Black Widow didn't need people doing things for her. She didn't need people, period.

"I'm not going to sleep anyway, not whilst you've got that gun. You might as well take it." He told her.

"Would it help if I let you hold the gun for tonight?" She asked in a patronising voice, tilting her head to the side. She didn't much fancy giving up one of her weapons, but she was also determined not to lose the argument.

"Not really. Once you use the knife in your pocket it'd be pretty easy to take it back from my cold dead hands."

"Why would I kill you? Why that would benefit me?" She demanded, getting angry.

"That's what you do! Why do you think I was sent to take you out?" he argued back, raising his voice.

"I don't just kill for fun; I do it because I have to! It's how I've been raised. And I couldn't just stop, the people I work for don't just let you quit. How the hell do you expect your agency to give me a job when you can't even sleep in the same room as me?"

"Because I've known you for two days, and you've not given me any reason to trust you!" He shouted back. "You've got to earn that."

She took a deep breath. She was impressed, not many people could get her angry like that. "I'm not going to hurt you; you're my only ticket out of here. You, on the other hand, have absolutely no reason to keep me alive."

He considered this. "Whatever. Take the bed or don't. I'm going to find a roof."

_Find a roof?_ Was that some type of American slang? He left the room, slamming the door behind him. She waited for about an hour, but he didn't come back. What if she'd pissed him off up to the point when he decided she wasn't worth the trouble anymore? No, because he'd left his wallet on the table, and his phone on the arm of his chair. Every instinct told her leave, or at least take the money from the wallet. But she refrained, because apparently, you had to gain Clint Barton's trust. She was going to have to start being a _little_ nicer, he had pissed of his entire agency just to give her a second chance. Deciding that he wasn't coming back, she slipped into the bed. She wasn't going to sleep, but that didn't mean she couldn't be comfortable. However, before she knew it, her eyes were fluttering shut, and she was sinking into the world of nightmares she avoided as often as possible.


	4. Day 4, Budapest

Clint let his feet dangle off the edge of the building. He always felt safer high up, more relaxed. It helped to clear his head, too, and to stop him thinking about angry Russian assassins in his hotel room. If she didn't want his help, he didn't have to give it to her. He had enough to be getting on with, like thinking about how pissed Fury was going to be when he got back. He'd been angry every time he'd checked in with Clint, after getting over the initial shock of finding him alive.

Someone was opening the door onto the roof. Clint made no effort to draw attention to himself – the longer he could go unnoticed, the better.

"Oh my god, you actually meant, _find a roof." _The Black Widow said from behind him.

"What else could I mean?"

"I don't know; some American saying?" she suggested. Tentatively, she made her way over to the edge and sat down beside him. She looked less comfortable high up than he was.

They sat in silence for a while. Clint would've broken it yesterday, but right now, he just couldn't be bothered. In the end, she said "Natasha Romanoff."

"What?"

"That's my favourite alias."

"You sure?" he smirked. "'Cause once you've chosen, you're stuck with it."

"Yes, I'm sure." She said exasperatedly, rolling her eyes.

"Then it's nice to meet you, Natasha Romanoff." He smiled. She almost smiled back.

"So, assuming S.H.I.E.L.D gives me a job, what type of work am I looking at?" she asked.

"You won't get any solo missions for a while. You'll probably get a partner to follow around 'till Fury's comfortable with you."

"A partner?" she practically spat out the word.

"Yep. Come to think of it, that'll probably be my punishment." He realised.

"Just what I need, a sidekick." She sighed.

He laughed. "You'd be lucky to have me, Natasha." He said, using her new name. It sounded a little more human than the Black Widow, and a little nicer than the nickname he was currently using in his mind.

"Don't you have a partner?" she asked.

"I'm too good for everyone at the agency." He said smugly.

"Or your head takes up the space of two people." She suggested.

"Or both."

She actually laughed, like, true laughter. Clint did a mini double take in his brain. Did he deserve a medal or what?

He looked back out into the city below them, and for a second, he just saw what an ordinary person would see – the lights, the cars, and the people. But he wasn't called Hawkeye for no reason, and it didn't take him long to see the sniper.

"Get down." He ordered under his breath.

"What?"

"Now!" He pushed her down just as the shot went off. They rolled over on the floor, and she, not knowing a bullet had been fired, instinctively kneed Clint as hard as she could. After realising what had happened, she kept her cover but tried to get a look at the shooter.

"Holy shit!" Barton exclaimed, wincing. He was still laid down on the floor, now in considerable pain.

"Who was that?" She demanded.

"Tried to save your fucking life and this is what I get? Motherfuck-"

"Barton, where was the shooter?"

"Agh, Jesus fucking Christ." He swore, screwing his face up in agony.

"Would you stop whining for a second?" She asked exasperatedly.

"Hold on, let me just get used to the fact I'm probably infertile now." He said.

"Honestly, have you never been injured before?"

"Not there. I tend to keep there as protected as I can."

"Tell me where the shooter was, I'll need to find them and take them out." She ordered.

"I don't think so. Long distance is my thing, remember?" he asked. "Just keep your cover." He told her, pulling her down onto the floor of the roof.

"Whatever you say, Katniss."

"You're gonna run out of archers one day, Romanoff." He said, as he loaded his bow and aimed, peering over the side of the building. The shooter was on another roof, just a little lower than theirs, so he couldn't see them lay on the floor. Clint could see about ten other spots that would have served the sniper better, but they'd been lucky he'd chosen that one. He had started to move, but he'd not managed to hide himself yet. Barton hit his target, as always, and the guy fell to the ground. No one in the streets even noticed anyone had been there.

"I knew him." Natasha told him.

"Then I guess we know why he wanted to shoot you." Clint replied.

"They're already looking for me." She stated. She didn't let her tone convey worry, because god forbid the Black Widow shows any emotion besides annoyance, but somehow he knew she was worried.

"The people you work for?" He asked. She nodded. _Fuck,_ he thought. The people she worked for were the people who trained her, which meant he had a decent reason to believe they might be trouble. "We'll just have to lay low," he decided. "C'mon, let's go find another hotel."


	5. Day 5, Budapest

'Natasha', as she guessed it was now, woke up at about five in the morning. They'd found a decent hotel this time – with two bedrooms, both of them had a better chance of sleeping. Even though she managed to get to sleep, that didn't mean she could stay that way. It didn't take long for the nightmares to take over, and she'd be thrashing around and screaming at people that weren't there.

She was going to sit on the couch and find something to watch on TV, but someone had beaten her to it. Clint was laid on the sofa in the dark, twirling an arrow around his fingers, seemingly concentrating on the television. He still registered her presence. "Nightmares?" He asked.

"How'd you know?"

"I could hear you." He told her.

"That's why you're up?"

"Nah, I get them too." he admitted.

He sat up on the sofa, giving her room to sit down.

"What're you watching?" She asked, as he returned his attention to a random soap opera.

"I have no idea, I can't speak this language." He said, staring at the screen intently.

"I can." She said, just to feel a little more superior.

"Well, don't ruin the game." He ordered. "You gotta guess what's going on. I thought that guy slept with that girl, but now I think that he's related to her, and I don't think I'm watching that type of show."

"Huh." She watched for a minute to check. "You're half right."

"Really? Go on, is it a girlfriend or sister?" She just smirked. "Ugh, damn it. Bitch."

"Asshole." She tried to smirk, but she ended up smiling for real. She must've been seriously sleep deprived.

They watched for a while, probably seeing two completely different shows. Finally, curiosity overtook, and she asked "What do _you _have nightmares about?"

For a moment, he looked surprised, before he said "Before I worked at S.H.I.E.l.D or the circus, I lived in an orphanage. And before that, I lived with my parents." She nodded. He didn't need to explain – he must've been taken out of their care for a reason. "What about you? What's the Black Widow scared of?"

She considered scowling at him, but couldn't summon the energy. "My training." she told him bitterly. She was referring to how she'd become the Black Widow. Thankfully, he didn't ask anything else.

"Someone's angry." He muttered, as a woman on the TV hit a guy on the head.

"He cheated on her with her friend." Natasha informed him.

"What? Which one's her friend?" Clint asked, completely bemused.

"The blonde guy."

He frowned. "I am _so_ lost."

Smirking, she left him to try and figure it out. She checked the clock – hardly any time had passed since she woke up. She'd found that was a pattern lately; time passed extremely slowly. "Do we have to do this all day?" She asked.

"Do what?"

"Nothing."

"What do you want to do? We're pretty much confined to this apartment." He told her.

"Exactly. There's nothing to do except watch crappy soap operas!" she exclaimed.

She threw her arms in the air dramatically when she said this, making Clint flinch; he looked a little worried. "Um, you could… change the channel, if you want…"

"But I need something to _do!"_ she sighed. "Something productive, I can't just sit here all day and watch TV."

"Well, there's not much else you can do." He told her, twirling one of his arrows around in his fingers.

"Can I play with your arrow?"

Now he looked terrified. "Is that like a euphemism, or-"

She threw one of the sofa pillows at his head. "Let me shoot it at a wall or something, I've never tried archery before. Please?"

He inched away from her. "But it's _mine._" He said unsurely.

"_I_ just said _please,_ Clint."

"Promise you won't break it?" He asked.

"How am I going to break it?" she asked exasperatedly.

"You're not a very nice person, you'll find a way." He said.

"Give me the god damn bow, Barton!" she ordered.

He sighed. "Just- j- Nata- Please be careful!" He stumbled over his words as he handed her the bow.

She took it off him and started plucking arrows out of his quiver that was on the floor by his feet. Funnily enough, she didn't have much experience with archery, so she had to take some time to work it out.

"Tasha, you're not even holding it the right way up." He told her. _Tasha._ What; was three syllables too much for his tiny brain? He began to laugh. "You're doing it completely wrong, you-" He was interrupted when she let the arrow fly and it hit a vase of flowers.

They both started laughing. Clint snatched his bow off her. "I recommend you stick with the guns." He told her. She elbowed him and went to pick everything up.

After she'd picked everything up, she looked around the room. "I need something to do." She decided.

"Be creative." He told her blandly, his focus back on the TV.

"There's got to be something here to do." She stated.

"I'm sure if there is, you'll find it." He told her.

She began searching the room, opening cabinets and drawers. She came across the mini fridge they got in the corner of the room. She opened the door and peered in. "Why have they given us so much alcohol? Do we look like we're alcoholics?"

He stood up to go and take a look. "That is a lot." He remarked. "Did we pay extra?"

"This should make the soap operas more interesting." She said, taking a bottle and drinking straight from it. "Hmm. It's good."

He took the bottle from her and took a swig – he winced, but tried to hide it. "So, do you get nicer when you're drunk or are you more likely to kill me?" He asked.

"I don't get drunk easily." She told him.

"Funny, neither do I." he said. "This could be a fun game." He proposed with the smile that she might be starting to get used to.

"Are you suggesting a competition?"

"Are you accepting?"

She considered this. "I'm very competitive."

"Me too. Look how much we're learning about each other."

"You're on, Barton."

"Drink up, Romanoff."


	6. Day 6, Budapest

"This is Director Fury. It's 11:30, the 6th of February. This recording marks the sixth day of Mission Black Death. Hawkeye, do you read me?" Fury's voice sounded out in Clint's earpiece.

"I do, sir." Clint replied.

"Hawkeye, I'd like you to explain what happened last night."

He had to start with the hard questions, didn't he? Clint's memory didn't exist past sitting cross-legged on the floor with Natasha next to the fridge, passing a bottle of vodka back and forth. "I…"

"Would you like to hear a recording of the mission report you gave me last night?"

_Fuck. _

He and Natasha were sat in a small café, watching their target. He was drinking coffee and eating a sandwich. They were mirroring him, observing his behaviours. Natasha was nodding at him, so it didn't look like he was talking to himself whilst he reported to Fury. "Sir, I-"

"Let's take a listen." Fury said.

A recording began to play. "Director Fury, helloooooo." Clint's voice said.

"Bonjourr sir." Natasha said.

"Hawkeye?" Fury's voice asked.

"Hawkeye. That's mee!"

"…Hawkeye." Natasha wondered slowly. "You're not… You're not a hawk."

"Nope, nope, nope." Clint said. "Buuuut I have a hawk eye. Look!"

"Hawkeye, are you drunk?" Fury demanded.

"I don't get drink." Clint shouted defiantly.

"I don't get drink either." Natasha added.

"You'll be lucky to have a job when you get back here, I swear-"

"He says I'll be lucky to have a job when you get back here." Clint relayed to her, as he was the only one with an earpiece.

"I, I need a job when you get back here." Natasha said.

"Tell her not to get her hopes up." Fury snapped. "Why are either of you drunk on a mission?"

"We had nothing to do!" Clint said defensively. "But there was lots of alcohol, so me and Natasha had a competition of drinking-"

"Who's Natasha?" Fury asked.

"_Who's_ _Natasha?" _Clint repeated, and the two of them burst out laughing.

"Natasha is me!" Natasha informed him, giggling.

"You named her?" Fury demanded.

"Clint! Look! There are birds on a nature channel!" She informed him. "They might have hawk's eyes."

"Let me see!"

"Hawkeye, you better be sober when I check in tomorrow." Fury ordered. "I'd like you to be able to comprehend what I'm saying when I decide whether or not to deploy you to a warzone."

"Over and up, sir."

The recording finished, and there was silence on the line. Clint resisted the urge to slap himself on the head.

"Sir… I am so, so, so, so sorry." Clint said, cringing.

"What's up?" Natasha asked.

"We drunk-dialled my boss." Clint sighed.

"Hawkeye, you've made a lot of decisions over the past six days that are starting to make me doubt your ability to finish this mission. One more mistake and I'm going to declare you compromised. Over."

"I think he hates me more than you do." Clint informed her, taking a bite of his sandwich.

"I doubt it." She laughed.

"You both love me really. He's just bluffing, if he fired me the whole agency would fall apart." Clint told her confidently.

"They might actually get stuff done." She joked.

At least one good thing had come from the alcohol; Natasha seemed to trust him a little more. Not that much, but enough that they didn't flinch when the other moved anymore, and they could share a hotel room and joke together. Clint could shower now without pushing things up against the door so she couldn't come in.

"So what were you doing in Budapest before you met me?" Clint asked.

"Some guy stole some money from us; I just had to take him out."

"You were with the KGB, right? When did you start working for them?"

"Very young."

"I don't get it. If you didn't like working for them, why didn't you get out earlier? I know it must be hard to escape them, but you're pretty good at what you do…"

"It's not just hard, it's almost impossible. I'm surprised I've made it this long. And they keep a special watch on me, I was the best they got out of the Black Widow programme, they really didn't want to lose me." She told him.

"The Black Widow programme?" He asked. The face she made next warned him not to ask that question again. "Not good? Okay. So if they manage to find you, what do they do then? Kill you?"

"No, they'll probably just… put me back in the programme." She said. Fear flicked across her face, and he felt kind of bad for her. Scared didn't suit her.

"They won't find you." He told her confidently.

"If they do, do me a favour? Assuming you're not already dead?" she said. He waited for her to ask. "Kill me."

She looked at him expectantly, wanting an answer. He considered it – it was probably the kindest thing to do. Still, just the idea of it seemed like a waste; he'd gone to all this trouble to keep her alive? And not to sound selfish, but he didn't want a mob of angry Russians on his back because he killed their best spy. Which was his mission in the first place, but now he had a way to get out of it. "They won't find you." He repeated.

"Please."

_Jesus, did she just ask for help and say please in one go? _Never did he think he'd pity the Black Widow. That, if anything, made him a little more comfortable. She probably didn't let anyone else see her in this kind of state. In fact, she definitely didn't. Clint came to the kind of sad conclusion that he was the closest thing she had to a friend. Well, what are friends for?

"Okay." He promised. "But it doesn't matter, because we're not going to let them find you. Okay?"

"Okay."


	7. Day 7, Budapest

Natasha couldn't help but let a little smile play upon her lips when she woke up. Finally, after five days of doing absolutely fuck all, they were going to get out and do something productive. Taking out their target. Murder. Always a good way to lift her spirits.

Though working at S.H.I.E.L.D seemed like an excellent prospect, if they were going to do everything this slow then she wasn't going to last long there. _Kill first, ask questions later _– that's what she'd been taught to do, not this whole assessment type of thing. Why should she care about the target's habits and associates? Clint said it was so they could learn more about their business, and to hopefully bring more people down. _Bullshit,_ she thought, because after a week of following this target around, they'd all they'd gleaned from him was that he exchanged money and hushed conversations in the corners of cheap cafes, something Natasha would have guessed of any drug lord.

Never mind though, because as soon as this target was down, she'd have done her bit and helped Clint, hopefully giving S.H.I.E.L.D a reason to trust her. Then she only had to survive the rest of the mission without killing Clint, which she was sure would be harder than it sounded.

"You look happy." Clint stated, emerging from the bathroom.

"Got a problem with that?"

"It's unnerving." He said.

"We've got something to do!" She grinned.

"Stop it, it's creepy." He said.

"And it's raining!" She said, looking out of the window at the streets that were now distorted due to the heavy downpour.

"So?"

"Rain is the best weather." She told him.

"Is sunshine too happy for you?"

"So, how are we going to do it?" She asked.

"Do what?"

"What do you think?" She asked sarcastically. "Are you going to let me shoot him, or are you gonna make me watch while you do your Robin Hood thing? Or maybe we could-"

"We're going to take him out from a distance, and assuming you stop with the archer jokes, I might let you do it." He said, grinning reluctantly.

"Really? You're actually going to let me do something?" She exclaimed.

"Yep."

"This day is getting better and better." She smiled to herself.

"Don't get too excited, it should be a simple job." He warned.

Soon they were leaving, venturing out into the streets of Budapest, Natasha with a little more bounce in her step now that the day had some kind of purpose. The conditions couldn't have been more perfect – Clint had overheard the guy talking about his plans to meet a contact for an exchange near an abandoned warehouse, meaning they wouldn't have to worry about witnesses. The warehouse was packed with crates and the light was dim.

They arrived before the arranged meeting time to find a good vantage point behind one of the crates. Natasha sat eagerly; she couldn't wait to feel the satisfaction of pulling the trigger on someone that deserved it, the feeling the Red Room had taught her to relish and utilise. When she voiced this feeling to Clint, he told her she was unhealthily bloodthirsty.

Clint nodded towards the door. A stout man, with dark stubbly hair, whose face was clouded by the smoke of his cigar, entered the room flanked by four muscular bodyguard figures and a tall blond man with pointed features. The tall man was sneering and looking around the room confidently. Sheepishly, the stout man cowered behind him looking rather uncomfortable.

Realisation hit her before they even said anything, because she recognised the tall man's cruel face. They'd been lured here.

Clint threw her a questioning look when she took a sharp intake of breath.

"That tall one," She whispered; her voice barely louder than the gentle tapping of the rain on the warehouse roof, "Used to be my supervisor." She informed him. "I guess we never lost him, because he must've seen us watching him." She pointed towards the stout man, their target. "They've teamed up."

"Well, there are only six of them. I've gotten out of worse messes. And if we get all of them, we're done!" He muttered optimistically, as the tall man ordered two of the bodyguards to start checking behind crates to look for the two spies. Clint looked confident, but she could tell he was uneasy.

"I don't think so. They must've made a deal with the drug lord to plant false information to lure us here, he'd have agreed with it so he wouldn't have any attempts on his life. But he wouldn't have put himself at risk just to get us here." Natasha told him.

He took a moment to process her words. "So the guy here now isn't the drug lord, he's just impersonating him. _Fucking fantastic." _Clint sighed. "Fury's gonna love this."

"Never mind that, we have to get out of here…"

The tall man had started to shout. He had a strong Russian accent. "Natalia, Natasha, Marya… Which name are you using today? Where's the Black Widow hiding?" He taunted, waving a pistol in the air. "We've come to take you home… Start your training again… Maybe your new friend could join you."

She hated showing signs of weakness, and therefore hated herself for the involuntary shiver of fear she let run down her spine. Even more because Clint saw it. He looked for a second as though he was going to try and comfort her, and then thought better of it. She looked him in the eye and said, "Remember our deal?"

He nodded reluctantly. Pulling an arrow out of his quiver and positioning it in his bow, he jerked his head to indicate she took the three men on the left. _That wasn't right_, she thought, as she took her two handguns out of their holsters. She should've liked to take the right, as she was more familiar with the fighting style of the tall man. However, there was no time to argue as Clint had already started dodging round empty crates to get a clear view of his enemies. He was way too impulsive for her liking.

She followed suit and twisted her way through the maze of boxes. She needed to be within a closer range of her victims than Clint, she was as adept with her guns as he with his arrows, but she preferred hand to hand combat. Searching the room once she'd found a point close enough to them, she found Clint just visible on a perch of piled crates. They found each other's gaze and Clint gave a small nod that clearly meant: _Go for it._

Taking the men by surprise, she jumped out from behind her crate and aimed a swiping kick at one of the bodyguards' shins so he tripped over and fell to the floor. As he fell he tried to grab a hold of her arm, but she dodged him and aimed another kick at his head. Another bodyguard formed a fist and put all his strength into a hit, but she was too quick. Catching his arm, she twisted it round and pulled him down, and started to execute one of her most effective moves – the thigh hold – when an arrow came soaring towards her head. She was forced to let go of the bodyguard and roll onto the ground.

"What the fucking hell, Clint?" She shouted, as he simultaneously shouted, "What the hell, Natasha?"

"You just shot at me!" She bellowed.

"I was aiming for that guy's head; I didn't expect you to be straddling it!" Clint shouted back, diving from his hiding place to join the fight close up.

"What an excellent team!" remarked the tall man coolly, as though the proceedings were only mildly interesting to him. "Not had much time to practice together, I gather?"

The bodyguard she had previously been working on doubled over as he suffered the blow of three of her well-aimed punches, before she kicked him in the groin and he sank to his knees. Another man took a run at her and she slid on her knees between his legs. Stupidly, he bent forwards to see where she'd gone. She'd already stood back up and used his back that was now bent over as a springboard to flip towards the tall man. Using her thigh hold again, she caused him to flip onto the floor. She was just about to kick his head to knock him out when Clint fell into her, knocked back by one of the remaining bodyguards. "Clint!" She exclaimed angrily, but she doubted that he heard as he was already fighting again.

Within that ten second distraction, the tall man had stood up again. Sweeping his blond hair out of his face, he aimed a kick at Natasha, who ducked just in time and managed to catch his leg. She tried to throw him off balance, but he did a cartwheel like move that forced her to let go. She aimed a punch at his face. He didn't stumble when her fist found its mark, but instead grabbed her outstretched arm and started to bend it backwards. Ignoring the pain, she took her foot and placed it behind his, and used her other arm to force him to trip. His head hit the hard, stone floor first, and it looked like he'd been knocked out. As he fell though, he pushed her arm into an even more unnatural position, so once he'd fallen she jumped back in pain. Unfortunately, she fell back into Clint, who was knocked forward and accidentally head-butted the stout man in the chest. "Natasha!" He whined, forcefully reminding Natasha of a child whose game had been ruined. She moved behind him as he finished fighting the last bodyguard left standing. He decided to finish him off with his arrows, but as he pulled back the string he elbowed Natasha in the eye. "Watch what you're doing!" She ordered, but he'd already shot the man in the head, and he'd fallen with the others.

Only the stout man was left now, standing in the middle of his five fallen guards. The cigar cloud had dispersed from his face now, revealing a look of pure terror. This was obviously much more than what he was paid for.

Natasha took a few steps towards him before grabbing him by his collar and slamming him against a wall. "Where's the drug lord?" She demanded.

"Пожалуйста, пожалуйста!" He said. "Please!"

She didn't even have to speak, it was so easy. Just staring into his eyes would crack him…

"He… He… The café! Everyday! The café, near the river! They 'ave blue and green lights! I know not the name! Please!"

Natasha continued to stare at him, but before she'd noticed it, his hand had slipped down to his jacket in which he'd been concealing a small handgun. Clint shouted 'No!' a moment too late, before he drew the gun up and shot himself in the head. His body crumpled over itself like a puppet whose puppeteer had let go.

"I thought he was going to shoot you." Clint said, breathing a sigh of relief.

"Then he'd have had to shoot you as well, and you'd have been quicker." She said, as they left the warehouse and started walking hurriedly in the rain, in pursuit of another hotel room.

"I guess."

"That was too close." Natasha muttered.

"Hey, for the first time we've fought together, we did okay, Nat." he assured her.

_Nat. _She kind of wanted to be annoyed at him for shortening her name even further, but she liked the way that sounded. Yeah, she could live with being called Nat.


	8. Day 8, Budapest

After walking around in the rain all night, turning at every corner, taking random buses and getting lost in as many big crowds as possible, they had to hope they'd lost anyone that might've followed them. Clint was still waiting for Fury's call. Eventually they found a nice looking hotel, where the woman at the front desk looked most displeased when they sloped in and started dripping all over the spotless lobby.

Upon finding their room, Clint immediately stripped off the top half of his S.H.I.E.L.D uniform that had plastered itself to his body. Natasha, who was wearing leggings and a hoodie, simply stood in the doorway, whilst the water dripping off of her collected in a puddle.

He headed for the bathroom, intending to have a shower with the temperature around 'molten lava', but Natasha cut in front of him. "Oh, no you don't." She said.

"I need a shower!" he said.

"So do I, I'm freezing!"

"Well, tough. I'm calling dibs, shotgun, or whatever."

"I'm not ten, Barton," She said rolling her eyes. "What happened to '_I'm nothing if not chivalrous'_?"

"You kicked me in the balls and I decided you didn't need my help." he said flatly.

"Move out of the way, I'm going first." She ordered, pushing him aside and blocking him out of the bathroom.

"Come on," He pleaded, "I'll be quicker!" She shut the door and locked it on him. "There's got to be enough room for both of us in there!" He shouted through the door halfheartedly. "Ugh. Bitch."

He flung himself down on the couch, determined to soak it so she'd have nowhere to sit. Lying there freezing, his earpiece began crackling. "This is Director Fury. It's 11:30, the 8th of February. This recording marks the eighth day of Mission Black Death. Hawkeye, do you read me?"

"Yes, sir." Clint said, sitting up.

"Did everything go as planned?"

"Uh, no. Turned out the guy we'd been following was just a decoy. And Natasha's old supervisor was there. But we got out okay."

"How did her old supervisor know you were there?" Fury asked suspiciously.

"He must've been working with the decoy guy, and they let us hear the details of the meeting so we'd go and-"

"What if _she _told them where you'd be?" He demanded.

"Natasha? Sir, I've told you-"

"How can you know that she's not lying to you?"

"She's had plenty of opportunity to kill me, sir, and she's not done it yet. If she was going to, why wouldn't she have done it by now?"

Fury paused, apparently stumped. "I don't know, Hawkeye, but all you've told me is that you went to a fake meeting that was set up by her supervisor. That's suspicious."

"Her _old _supervisor, sir." Clint corrected.

"I'm not so sure."

"We think we know where to find the real target. We're going to lay low for a day or two though, just in case anyone's still following us." Hawkeye informed him, losing his patience.

"Hawkeye, just think about how she earned her reputa-"

"I think that's all, sir. Over." He took his earpiece out. _Some people are so stubborn,_ he thought. After a whole week, did Fury not think Clint would have a better read on her than he did? He looked towards the bathroom; he could hear the shower. She wasn't going to kill him. She was okay, really, even fun at times. She just needed to find a way to prove it to Fury.


	9. Day 9, Budapest

At 1am, Natasha woke up from her usual nightmares. She wasn't at all surprised either, to find Clint wide awake. He was repeatedly punching the wall, his knuckles starting to bleed. He acknowledged her presence by giving a slight nod in her direction before returning to the wall.

She curled up on the sofa and watched him. That was one of the only ways she could get a dreamless sleep with no nightmares, training until she was so exhausted she'd be able to literally collapse on her bed. Clint's blood was trickling down his arms.

"Hey, hey." She said, standing up. "Come on."

"What?"

"Training. We can punch each other instead of the wall." She said.

He grinned. "Okay."

"Woah, wash your hands first. I don't want your blood all over me."

"You're bothered by that?" he asked, heading to the sink.

"No, but I don't want to have to use the shower in this hotel again. There's no hot water."

"Whatever. Okay, come on then."

They began sparring - Natasha wasn't trying too hard, neither was he. However, this was probably practice they needed; if they remained as out of sync as they were the other day, they'd be dead by the end of the month. She began to advise him on different moves. "You know, when you do that, it'd be better if you aimed here, 'cause then you'd find it easier to get into this position and snap their neck-"

"Woah, woah, woah," He took a step back, "We're not aiming to kill!"

"Yeah, right. I know that. Come on."

Eventually, the pace picked up and they started fighting for real. He threw a punch and she caught it, so he aimed a kick that missed as she dodged. She stepped back into a wall that she used to push off as she kicked him in the stomach. He backed up and fell onto the couch, and she dropped her guard completely and started to laugh.

"Shut up." He said, grinning reluctantly. "There's not enough room, we've gotta move some stuff."

Together, they took all the furniture in the room and shoved it all either in the bedrooms or the bathroom. They cleared a space in the middle of the room and resumed fighting. They carried on until 3am when a member of the hotel staff knocked at the door and took a sweeping look at the room; his eye's lingering on the missing furniture, the blood on the wall and then on Clint and Natasha, who were both sweating and panting, before asking them politely to keep it down as it was 3am.

Suppressing smirks, they both sat cross legged on the floor and began speculating about what the hotel guy thought they'd been doing.

"How old are you?" He asked, in a way that made her think he'd been wondering for a while but was too scared to ask in case she attacked him.

"Twenty nine. I mean, I'm not really sure, I don't remember a lot from before or during the KGB, but I found this file once that says twenty five. You?"

"Thirty two. Am I allowed to ask personal questions now?" He asked with the cheeky smile that she'd begun to get accustomed to.

"Maybe a few."

"Okay, so where do you live?"

"I just do this when I'm on missions." She said confusedly. "I don't have anywhere I own."

"What about when you're not on a mission?" He asked.

She thought about it, but she started to look a little more confused, and maybe a little angry at herself. He thought it was best to change the subject.

"I do this a lot too, on missions, anyway. I have an apartment, though, but I don't stay in it. SHIELD has some rooms for agents to stay in, I use one of those most of the time, but no one knows my address so it's a good safe house."

"Sounds good."

"Just wait 'til we get to America." He smiled. "You'll have your own stuff, your own place; you won't have to kill people..."

"So I could get my own apartment?"

"Well, I mean, you'd need money and stuff first." He told her. "They don't just give them away."

"Oh."

"But S.H.I.E.L.D will give you a room; you'll have somewhere to stay."

"Right." She said. So far, she'd not actually stopped to consider the possibility that everything would work. She was so sure that someone from her past would catch up with them, or Clint's boss wouldn't give her a job, or even that this was all some elaborate scheme to capture the Black Widow. Never had she thought about how it might actually happen; that she'd suddenly be living in a new country, homeless with no money. "So, are we going to look for the drug lord tomorrow?" she said, changing the subject. They'd decided they'd stay in the hotel for another day, just in case.

"Yeah. But I think it's probably best if I go on my own. Just because they'll find it harder to recognise one of us than both of us."

"I guess." She lay back on the floor. The idea of doing nothing for another day killed her a little on the inside, and not having company would make it even worse.

"…Is that okay?" He asked, hearing the tone of her voice.

"Yeah, sure." She said.

She continued to lie there, staring at the ceiling. Eventually, Clint lay down as well, and soon they both fell asleep, lying on the empty floor.

**Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel or any of its characters. (Surprise, surprise.)**

**A/N: Thanks if you've followed/favourited. Please leave a review!**


	10. Day 10, Budapest

Clint was sat on his own in a café looking out onto a river, blue and green fairy lights hanging down from the ceiling. His phone, that had not worked for a fortnight was pressed up against his ear so he could talk on his earpiece without arousing suspicion. Apparently, Phil Coulson had persuaded Fury to let him talk to Clint about how his mission was going. Phil was a mentor to Clint, his supervising officer. He'd been the one that had got him a job at S.H.I.E.L.D. Unsurprisingly, Phil did not approve of Clint's new friend.

"She's an assassin, Clint." Phil said wearily.

"Gee, that _is_ a problem. If only I were one too." Clint said sarcastically.

"Okay, forget about her for a moment. Let's say you can trust her. You're still going to have a load of her old friends after you while you finish the mission, which is already complicating things."

"I doubt that they'll just leave me alone if I abandon her."

"Are you at the café?" Coulson asked resignedly.

"Uh huh. The guy's two tables across from me." Clint looked over at the man two tables down. He looked like he was in his sixties. His clothes looked expensive and his greying hair was slicked back. "He's eating a bagel. He looks really rich and he's being flanked by two girls that look about a billion years too young for him."

"Where's _she_?" Phil asked, leaving Clint with no doubt as to whom _she_ was.

"_She_ is back in the hotel room. You know, I don't know why everyone is acting like this. Am I dead? No! If she was going to try and kill me, she'd have done it by now." Clint reasoned.

"Maybe she wants to get into S.H.I.E.L.D. We've got a lot of sensitive files involving her…" Phil said, as Clint sighed in exasperation. "You'd feel different if you knew everything she's done in the past, Clint."

"Coulson, I used to be part of a circus. Now I'm an agent for a secret intelligence agency. People change." Clint said.

"Not that much." Phil said darkly.

"Look, I get the feeling she was made to do that stuff. I mean, she won't talk about it much, but she is scared of the people she used to work for."

"Still… Even if she doesn't kill you, Clint, Fury will."

"_That_ I won't deny."

"He will literally _kill_ you." Phil repeated.

"Thanks Coulson. Listen, I gotta go, the guy just left. Plus, Natasha's gonna go mad if I leave her in that hotel room much longer." Clint told him.

"Whatever. Good luck, Clint."

"Right. See you." Clint heaved himself out of the chair and set off towards the hotel. The weather had brightened up considerably, the odd cloud was scattered across a slightly pink sky as the sun set. Along with the relaxing sound of the river, he could have enjoyed a pleasant walk home.

But Clint had to take the side streets and alleyways. Every now and then, he felt like something was moving behind him. At first, he decided he was just being paranoid, that his mind was playing tricks on him. But there was a limit to what his imagination could invent, and he eventually decided to go and investigate.

Approaching the trash can he'd heard a clatter behind, he leant down to find the source. Before he knew what had happened, there was a piercing pain down his left side.

He knelt down in pain. His shirt started to feel damp and wet. Luckily, the knife had pierced him away from anywhere it could do serious permanent damage. He stumbled as he tried to pull it out.

Clint turned round and saw the guy that had thrown the knife. Diving out of the way as the guy aimed another shot, Clint opened the briefcase he'd been carrying to conceal his crossbow. He snapped it into place and pulled out an arrow. It hurt to walk, but he gritted his teeth and aimed a kick at the guy, who staggered back a little. The guy tried to throw a punch but Clint caught it and hit him in the head, knocking him to the ground. He loaded his bow and pulled his arrow back, pointing it at the guy's head.

"Who the hell are you?" Clint demanded, though his voice failed slightly. Maybe the knife hadn't hit anything serious, but he was losing a lot of blood.

The man began mumbling something indistinct.

"Who are you?" Clint repeated slowly and clearly.

"Where is the Black Widow?" Asked the man.

"You worked with her?" Clint said. He was starting to feel a little lightheaded.

"We don't want you. Just leave and let us take her back." Proposed the man.

"That's okay, thanks." Clint said coldly.

Grinning maliciously, the man said, "Then we'll find you both."

Clint watched him for a second before letting the arrow fly, finding its mark in his head. Staggering a little, Clint clutched his wound, seeing spots. The hotel was only three streets away. He just had to make it three streets.


	11. Day 11, Budapest

Natasha was going out of her mind with boredom. Clint hadn't come back all night, and his phone was broken so she couldn't call him. She'd carved pictures into the wooden floor, built a fort, and watched a spider crawl about the room for three hours, and she was fresh out of ideas for something to do.

Just as she was thinking about getting some breakfast, she heard the lock clicking. Instinct made her draw her gun and point it at the door.

Clint stumbled in, and she dropped her gun. "Where the hell have you been?" she demanded.

He removed the hand that was clutching his side, revealing a large wound. She rolled her eyes. "What did you do?"

"I'm dying here!" Clint panted.

"Don't _whine_." She said, guiding him over to the couch. "What happened?"

"One of your old friends tried to stab me last night," he told her, wincing as she tried to examine the wound.

"Wait. Last night? What took you so long?"

"Um, there were more of them when I got closer to the hotel…" He mumbled through gritted teeth.

"You fought more of them with half your blood gone? You can't even stand up!" she said sceptically.

"… I got lost, okay?" He admitted.

"Top agent at S.H.I.E.L.D, ladies and gentlemen." She said sarcastically. "Take your shirt off."

"Buy me a drink first."

Even bleeding profusely, he was still making an effort to annoy. She sighed exasperatedly, and he gave a weak laugh before struggling to pull it over his head. She began to clean the blood away; he kept wincing whenever she touched the wound.

"Ow. Ow. Ow." He groaned. "Nat, it hurts."

"Yeah, stab wounds do that." She said. "But you're not going to die. Do you feel okay?"

"Kinda. Can you get me a glass of water?" He asked.

"Get it yourself." She said.

"Fine." He grunted, moving to stand up whilst his face contorted in pain.

"Ugh, sit down." She ordered, shoving him back onto the couch. She filled him a glass; then sat on the couch next to him. "So they know where we are?"

"Probably. We should go to a different hotel."

"Yeah. But you should get some rest first."

"Right." He agreed. He took out his earpiece and spread himself out on the couch.

She went back to being bored again, her only company asleep. She almost dropped off herself, before she noticed his earpiece buzzing slightly. She picked it up. "Hawkeye? Hawkeye?" A voice was asking.

"Hello?" She said.

"Oh, god, you killed him, didn't you?" Fury's voice asked from the earpiece.

"No!" She said defensively.

"Where is he, then?" Fury demanded.

"He's sleeping!"

"Yeah, right." He scoffed.

A million insults were waiting at the tip of her tongue, but she couldn't say any of them. If things went well, this was her future boss.

"He was injured yesterday, he's recovering right now." She reported.

"Badly injured?"

"He'll be fine." She said.

"Right. Tell him to check in with me as soon as he wakes up." He ordered. She could hear the sceptical tone in his voice; it was clear he doubted Clint would be waking up. She began to say, 'okay then,' but Fury had cut through her words by ending the communication. She threw the earpiece back next to the sleeping Clint, rolling her eyes.


	12. Day 12, Budapest

"We need something to do." Clint stated.

"No shit." Natasha said, banging her head on the floor. Clint had updated Fury, who had made him swear to take a day or two to rest before doing anything, because he kind of had a history of downplaying injuries and almost dying.

Natasha was sat cross legged on the floor, staring at the wood as if it was going to speak to her and give her something to do. Lying on the couch, Clint was counting how many dead flies there were in the lamp shade. For some reason, Natasha was pissed at Fury too, so they'd both enjoyed ten minutes of verbally abusing him before they fell back into their perpetual boredom.

"We could get a movie." He suggested.

"I don't want to watch a movie."

"Then _you _think of something better." He said, annoyed.

"We could go and finish the mission." She spat.

"I told Fury-"

"I know! But you're fucking fine!" she complained.

"So, a movie?" He said tentatively.

"Fine." She sighed, glaring at him. "Which one?"

"I dunno, what do you like?" he asked. "We don't have to watch one in Russian, do we?"

She rolled her eyes at him.

"Come on, it'll pass the time quicker."

"Fine." She said. "But I get to go out and get one."

Clint wanted to get out of there too, so they resolved it with a game of rock paper scissors. After winning, he smirked and got up off the couch. He asked her what type of snacks she'd want and headed out.

Along the way, Clint kept a lookout for anyone after them. He saw a few people that looked suspicious, but he may have just been being paranoid, because he got back to the apartment safe and sound with all his purchases.

"I got you a bag of chips, by the way, you freak." He said. Natasha was sat on the couch upside down; she caught the bag he threw to her. "Though what type of person doesn't eat popcorn, I don't know."

She began searching through the movies he'd picked. He figured she needed to watch some of the American classics, since she was going to live there. He'd collected movies like Tarantino's, The Godfather and such.

"Lord of the Rings? Well, that makes sense, Legolas. I'd have expected the Hunger Games to be in here somewhere."

"Please, I could run circles around Katniss Everdeen." He retorted.

"Finding Nemo?"

"Shut up, it's a guilty pleasure."

"You're a ten year old deep down inside, aren't you, Barton?" she said patronisingly.

He took the DVDs off her and searched through them to pick one out. "Kinda. But you've got some catching up to do, come on."


	13. Day 13, Budapest

Natasha was sat in the now familiar café overlooking the river with the blue and green fairy lights. Her eyes kept flicking inconspicuously to the elderly man on the table next to her. His slicked back black hair was streaked with grey, matching his long thing moustache and thick stubble. He had deep set eyes, bushy eyebrows, a large nose and a larger forehead.

Three young girls in their twenties were sat at his table with him, fake smiles plastered on their faces. Natasha wondered how much they were being paid to be there. Men like that made Natasha sick, mainly because she'd had to pretend to be one of those girls multiple times before.

"Anton Salkov?" A tall man with a very business-like aura approached him and held out a hand.

Chuckling, Anton Salkov took his hand and shook it, using his other hand to gesture to the empty seat at the table. Whilst the man sat himself down, Salkov gave his hands a light brush with his napkin, as if he thought the man had contaminated him.

The two men engaged in light conversation for ten minutes or so, discussing good holiday spots and restaurants. They spoke in Russian, but Natasha had decided the night before that she was going to practice thinking in English, so she translated everything in her head. After they'd finished with the formalities, they leaned in over the table, talking in hushed voices, and Natasha could only guess they'd moved onto business. They were too far away to hear, so she adjusted her chair by making a big deal about dropping her spoon. When she had a better view of them, she saw that their discussion wasn't going to plan. She could see the hostility in both men's faces.

Things got more heated, and evidently, Salkov just didn't feel in the mood to give a fuck. He leant back in his chair and said, "That is my final offer. Take a day. Consider. Tomorrow, my wife and I shall be attending a party at this location." He took a pen out and scribbled an address on a piece of paper. "The host is lax about security. I'll be there under a different name, of course, but you'll be able to get in with no trouble. Think about my offer, we'll speak then."

Salkov went to shake the man's hand, but then seemed to think better of it. He stood up, the three girls following suit, and left the man alone in the café.

The man's annoyance clearly flitted across his face. He stuffed the piece of paper with the address on in his coat pocket. Seeing her chance, Natasha drunk all her coffee in one, then turned a little to the side so he could see more than her back. She waited for him to turn around; then _accidentally_ let him catch her looking at him. He watched her for a moment, and she flashed a friendly smile at him. His eyes widened, and she turned her back on him again, and waited.

"Hey, mind if I sit here?" Asked the man ten seconds later, tapping her on the back.

"Not at all." She smiled.

Draping his coat over the back of an empty chair, he introduced himself. "Alexander." He told her, his eyes a little south of her face. She resisted the temptation to roll her eyes.

"Yelena." She lied easily.

"Can I buy you a coffee, Yelena?"

"I'd like that." She said, leaning back.

After he'd sorted out her order, he headed up to the counter. Wasting no time, she slid her hand in his coat pocket and found the address. She also found a pen in there, which she used to copy it out onto her wrist. Shoving everything back where it came from, she sat back into her chair and waited for him to come back. When he returned, she was faking a phone call to no one in particular.

He set her coffee down on the table, sat down, leaned forward and opened his mouth before she cut him off. "Listen, I'm sorry, but I have to go, it's a bit of an emergency. Maybe I'll see you here tomorrow?" She asked, faking hopefulness.

"Um, yeah, okay." He stuttered.

"Okay. Bye!" She left him alone in the café, heading back to the hotel room.

Clint was hanging upside down on the couch, shooting his arrows at the wall. "Hey, Nat, watch this. If I tie a rope to this arrow, and shoot it at the ceiling, I can climb up like Spiderman. Want to see?"

"No. We have something to do." She told him.

He rolled off the couch. "You're serious?" He asked disbelievingly.

"Yep. Come on, we're thinking up aliases. We're going to a party tomorrow."


	14. Day 14, Budapest

Clint tugged at his collar. The crappy tux he'd rented was either too small or too big, depending on what body part you were asking about. Natasha had bought a short dark green dress, put it on about a half an hour ago, and then disappeared into the bathroom to do her makeup. She hadn't been out since, which sucked, as Clint wanted to brush his teeth. Apparently, putting her make up on demanded privacy, so he was left to think about how uncomfortable his tux was.

They'd spent the day coming up with a cover, and going over it so they knew their aliases as well as they knew themselves. If anyone were to ask, they were a Mr Adam Markovic and Miss Nina Kaminski. They'd been together roughly a year. He was a business man who liked to write poetry in his spare time, and she was a professional dancer. Natasha had died her hair brown just in case some guy from the café noticed her, and Clint had been brushing up on his Russian.

When she was finally ready, they set off towards the address. Inside was a mix of people, whom the majority of which were business men and their wives. Anton Salkov was nowhere to be seen, but they'd gotten there early.

A fair few male eyes in the room were on Natasha, making Clint feel rather smug. All these people were jealous of him, boosting his ego a little. She seemed oblivious to all the attention.

Clint hated undercover work. _Apparently, _carrying a bow and arrow around with you blew your cover, so he had to settle for a gun concealed in his tux. He had perfectly good aim with a gun, but it just didn't feel right in his hand, and he felt naked without his bow.

The two of them made their way straight to the bar. Avoiding conversation was crucial; no one would have to talk to them for long enough to realise they didn't belong there. They didn't even know whose party this was. _Just walk around like you own the place,_ Natasha had told him countless times, as if he didn't do that already.

Before long, however, another couple was making their way over. Natasha tried to drive him away, but it was too late.

"Hi. Robert Yakovlev. Nice to meet you." The man said, before ordering his and his wife's drinks. "And this is my wife, Nadya." He shook Clint's hand vigorously.

"Adam Markovic. And this is Nina Kaminski." Clint introduced them, putting his arm around Natasha's waist for the special effects.

"You two are together?"

"Yeah." Natasha said her voice changing weirdly as she leaned into his shoulder. "You're married?"

They'd discussed this strategy; if anyone did talk to them, avert the conversation to something different. Relationships, holidays, the weather, anything that didn't involve the purpose of the party.

"Yes, five years next weekend, in fact." The woman smiled happily.

"Wow, congratulations." Clint said, wishing he had something better to say.

"How long have you two been together?" Asked the woman.

"About a year." Clint said, his answer well-rehearsed. His hand on her waist pulled her closer to him and he gave her his best adoring smile.

She smiled back, and then rested her chin on his shoulder, so she could whisper in his ear. "Barton, I'm a professional, but if your hand moves any lower I may just rip your face off."

"Yep, got it." He said under his breath, removing his hand altogether.

The couple smiled, obviously under the impression they'd just shared some inside joke. "Oh, Nadya, there's Victor. You'll have to excuse us." The man said, spotting someone at the other end of the room.

"Barton, there he is, look." Natasha nodded towards a corner of the room. Anton Salkov was stood amidst a group of men, shrouded by thick cigar smoke. Clint fought the impulse to shoot him on the spot; his aim was good enough, but shooting Salkov whilst he was surrounded what looked like his business partners wasn't the best idea.

Giving him a bit of time to settle into the party and let his guard down, they sat at the bar for another hour or so, making small talk with the barman and hoping no one would interrupt.

Salkov's phone began to ring. He help up a finger to the people around him and went outside to take a call. Seeing their chance, Natasha and Clint slipped away from the bar and followed him out of the door.

He was arguing on the phone with someone – well, he was shouting at them a lot. The street they were on was almost deserted, and it wasn't hard for them to sneak past and turn a corner so Salkov couldn't see them. Natasha looked expectantly at Clint, waiting for him to pull out his gun.

"Go on. I think you've earned it." He said.

"You mean I can do it?" She said, her eyes widening.

"Yeah, I don't see why not. I don't like these guns anyway."

She smiled widely. "Excellent." She turned round the corner a little bit, checking where Salkov was. Just as she reached down to take the gun in the thigh holster hidden by her dress, she heard a voice.

"Yelena?"

"Excuse me?"

Clint looked between Natasha and a man that had just appeared out of nowhere.

"Yelena?" He asked. She looked completely blank, and in an attempt to jog her memory, he said "Alexander. I bought you coffee."

"…Right. Yeah. Sorry, hi." She said unenthusiastically.

"You didn't come this morning." He said.

"Uh, no." She seemed to gather herself together. "Sorry, family emergency."

"Oh, of course. What are you doing here?" he asked.

"I'm here with my… cousin." She improvised, looking towards Clint. The man nodded at him.

"Nice to meet you. Maybe I'll see you inside?" He suggested.

"Sure." She smiled. He turned his back on them. Peeking round the corner, she saw that Salkov had gone inside. "Fuck, that's our cover blown. We're going to have to start again."

"He's a little old for you, don't you think, Nat?" Clint smirked.

She rolled her eyes. Dragging him further away from the party, she tried to get her bearings to lead them back to the hotel. "Shut the fuck up."

"And by a little, I mean centuries." He said as she led him down the street.

"Barton, shut the fuck up. Seriously. I still have my gun."

He simply laughed, trailing behind her as she headed back to the hotel.


	15. Day 15, Budapest

Natasha sat on the couch, listening to Clint report back to Fury.

"Yes, sir." He said. "Yes, we found him, yeah. Yeah, we almost got him, but then Tasha's dad showed up-"

She scowled. "Come on, he wasn't _that _old."

"Yeah, he looked like he was at the younger end of a hundred." Clint retorted. "No, sir, no, I'm focused. But we've got it under control. Yes, sir. Yes, understood. Okay. Over." He looked up at Natasha. "He really hates you, you know."

"Yep, I guessed that much. How you expect him to give me a job, I don't know, but…"

"He doesn't have to like you to give you a job. You know, sometimes I don't think he likes me very much." He added thoughtfully.

"Wow, I can't imagine why." She said drily.

"You'll be fine. Just cut down on the sarcasm." He said.

"I still get to use it on you, right, Barton?"

"You wouldn't be you if you didn't, Romanoff."


	16. Day 16, Budapest

Clint was waiting on the corner of the street, waiting for Natasha. After waiting at the café for a while, they'd seen Salkov meet with a client, whom they'd proceeded to ambush into a dark alleyway. Deciding that Natasha was probably best at persuasion and torture, he'd left to stand guard on the corner. They needed Salkov's address, because Fury wanted a clean death with no witnesses. Unfortunately, the guy was more cautious about people following him then they were, so he'd slipped away any time they'd tried to tail him. Clint leant against the wall, drumming his fingers on it, listening to the occasional shouts of pain coming from down the alley.

"All done." Natasha said, stepping onto the street, smiling.

"Did you just leave him in the alley?" Clint asked.

"Yeah. He won't be moving for a few hours." Natasha told him looking satisfied.

"You're creepy sometimes." He told her, looking at her grin. "But Fury said he wants this to be a clean job, Nat."

"Oh, he won't be saying anything to anyone anytime soon." She said sinisterly.

"What did you do to him?"

"I can't give away all my secrets." She said defensively.

"Sure you can. Go on, how does the Black Widow get information out of people?" he asked.

"Would you like a demonstration?"

"So, you can't give away all your secrets, I get it." He said hastily. "But we know where he lives now?"

"Yep, but he's not going to be there tonight, so it's back to the hotel." She said disappointedly.

"Another day of doing nothing?" he asked.

"We could watch some movies again." She suggested.

"Yeah. We didn't watch The Godfather, we could start with that."

She smirked. "You can pick Finding Nemo again if you want, I won't tell anybody."

"I don't…" He scoffed. "I- who am I kidding, we should get Toy Story as well."


	17. Day 17, Budapest

"This is disgusting." Natasha stated, tiptoeing around dirty clothes strewn across the floor of Anton Salkov's bedroom. "You'd think, seeing that he's so rich, he'd be able to afford a maid."

"I think there's something living under this pile." Clint said, prodding it with one of his arrows.

"The rest of the house is like this too." She said. "I think he just picks up food and throws it on the floor."

Clint and Natasha went into the living room. They both perched on either arm of an armchair, as the actual seat was covered in smashed up potato chips. They had to sit in the dark, because they wanted Salkov to come in without suspecting anything.

Sat in the dark, Natasha's mind began to wander. Here they were, waiting to assassinate Salkov. Clint seemed calm. He was tapping his hand on his leg, which she'd learned was just a habit of his rather than a sign of anxiousness. He didn't seem worried about the morality of this mission at all. She couldn't wrap her mind around why this was any different to her case. _So_ _why had he saved her?_

Clint's mission had been to kill her, and he'd almost managed to do it – had he not decided to offer her a new life. But why? Surely, S.H.I.E.L.D didn't offer the chance to reform to every criminal. They weren't offering it to Salkov. Fury's attitude towards her proved that. Still, Clint had decided to disobey orders, (something she would never have done), get himself into trouble, (something she had never done), and help her. The only conclusion Natasha could form was that he wanted something in return. What, she had no idea. There were things typical people would want in return, but none of them seemed to fit. Money? Clint knew she didn't own any. Sex? He still seemed wary of coming within a metre of her, she doubted it. The only other thing she could think of was her knowledge about the KGB, which was definitely limited, and he didn't even seem that interested in them.

"Clint?" She said.

"Yeah?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"You just did."

"Oh, _haha_." She said drily.

"Shoot."

"Why didn't you kill me?"

"You mean when I first met you?"

"When else did you want to kill me?"

"You want a list?"

She scowled at him, but it was too dark to see. "Seriously."

"Seriously? It seemed like a waste." He told her.

"A waste of criminal life?" she asked.

"A waste of talent." He said.

"But weren't you bothered about what Fury would do?"

Clint considered this. "He's angry now, because you've got an especially bad reputation. But I don't think he really minds. S.H.I.E.L.D's full of people who come from bad backgrounds that are on their second chance. That's how the agency found me. And you're gonna turn out okay, right?"

His words were met with silence.

"Why d'you want to know? Not complaining, are you?" he asked.

"I'd like to know what I owe you."

"Owe me? You don't owe me anything." He said, completely nonplussed.

"Yeah, I do, you saved me. I've got to do something to repay you for that."

"Well, if I'm ever dying, if you could just not stand there and watch?"

"Seriously, why'd you do it?" She asked impatiently.

"I didn't do it thinking I was going to get something off you in return, Nat." He told her. "If nobody had ever looked at me and thought I was worth saving, I'd be dead right now, or in a prison cell. I wanted to do that for someone else, and it felt right to do it for you."

Natasha dropped it, and stared at the front door, waiting for Salkov to walk through it. She knew that no matter what Clint said, it wouldn't change anything in her mind. She owed him a debt.


	18. 1:07, Day 18, Budapest

Clint's fingers wrapped around his bow as he heard the lock clicking. Beside him, Natasha slid off the couch to stand up. She glanced at Clint, and he nodded. She raised her gun.

Anton Salkov entered the room, dropping his bag onto the floor and heading for the light switch. Before he could reach it, Natasha pulled the trigger and he fell unceremoniously to the ground. Silence hung in the air.

"Well, that was slightly anticlimactic." Clint said.

"So, do we take care of the body or does S.H.I.E.L.D deal of that kind of thing?" Natasha asked.

"I say we just leave him here, no one's going to find him in all this crap." Clint said, waving a hand at the mess on the floor.

There was a small gasp from the doorway. Clint looked up; a woman was stood there, frozen, looking terrified with her arms around two children who hadn't seemed to have noticed anything yet. Natasha's raised her gun again.

"Whoa, Nat, what're you doing?" Clint asked hastily.

"You said Fury wanted a clean job." She said impatiently, as the woman clutched her children in fear, not understanding a word of what they were saying.

"We'll let this one slide, okay?" He said, taking a step towards her in case he needed to try and get the gun off her.

"But that makes no sense." She said bemusedly. "The reason we didn't just do it at the café was so there'd be no witnesses. Now you want to just leave his family after they've seen us kill him? They know what we look like now!"

"You're not in the KGB anymore, Nat. They're just kids." Clint said desperately.

"I know, but…"

"Natasha," He took a step closer to her and slowly prised the gun out of her hands. She stared at him confusedly.

The smaller of the two children began to cry, and the woman looked like she was about to join it.

"C'mon." Clint said, taking Natasha's hand and leading her out of the house, past the family as they hurried to the Anton Salkov's side. "We've got to check in with Fury, and then we've finished the mission."


	19. 2:59, Day 18, Budapest

It was still extremely early in the morning. Salkov had come home at about 1 in the morning, so by the time Clint had found them a cheap little hotel to wait for Fury's call in; it was still only 3 am.

Natasha couldn't believe how stupid she'd been. Clint was the only person in the world who would defend her when she got to S.H.I.E.L.D, the only person who believed she deserved a second chance. And she'd almost gone and shot a couple of kids in front of him. He hadn't looked her in the eye since they'd left the house. _Well done, you idiot_, she thought to herself. Why couldn't she have just let him be in charge?

"Fury's calling." he mumbled, turning his back on her. He began to talk to Fury. "Yes, sir. We got him. His wife and kids saw though. Yes. Got it. Right. She did."

_She did what?_

"Thanks sir. That's great. Will do. Over." He turned to her, still not looking her in the eye. "We've got the coordinates for the pickup. We'll set off tomorrow."

"Right." she said. At least she was still invited.

"Do you want the bed or the couch?" he asked, very formally.

Neither looked that appealing - the bed sheets were stained and the mattress was lumpy, and the couch was torn in places and slightly damp. "I don't mind." she said. "The couch, I suppose."

"Okay. Night." he said stiffly, before going into the bedroom and shutting the door behind him.


	20. Day 19, Budapest

Earlier that day, Natasha had found an excellent car for them to steal. Clint wasn't exactly an expert on cars, he didn't own one (yet). However, he had to appreciate the set of CDs he found in one of the compartments.

It was getting darker, and the rain pounded down on the windows as Clint drove. Fury had given them the coordinates for their pickup, which was why they'd had to get a decent car - it was a while away. Natasha had dropped off half an hour ago in the seat next to him. He felt like he should wake her up before her nightmares started and she began thrashing about and screaming, but he didn't really feel like talking to her right now.

Fury had told him. Coulson had told him. Hell, Natasha had told him a decent amount of times. She was an assassin. She had no feelings, no conscience. For some reason, he'd chosen to ignore them all, and she'd almost killed two kids for it.

He got that she'd been trained to do what was best for her and her mission, but how was he supposed to help reform a woman who could aim a gun at innocent people without a second thought?

Fury's call began to come in. "This is Director Fury. It's 22:37, February 19th. This recording marks the 19th day of Mission Black Death. Hawkeye, do you read me?"

"Yes, sir."

"Are you on your way to the coordinates?"

"Yes, sir."

"We'll be sending some reinforcements, just in case, now you're keeping Natalia."

"Natasha." Clint corrected him absentmindedly, still lost in his own thoughts.

"But I thought-"

"Natalia Romanova was just a cover. She picked Natasha Romanoff as her name." Clint informed him.

"Sorry. Where is she now?"

"Asleep." Grunted Clint.

"Well, when she wakes up, you two are going to have to sort out her passport information so we can make her one. And I was going to talk to her about what'll happen to her when she gets to S.H.I.E.L.D."

"You're letting her stay?"

"Well, I never thought you'd survive this long. And it sounds like she helped you a lot on this mission. So if you trust her, I'll give her a chance."

_Typical. _Just as Clint was starting to have doubts.

"Right." He sighed. "Well, I can tell her anything you want to say when she wakes up if you want."


	21. Day 20, Budapest

Natasha's eyes fluttered open – it was still raining, and the clock on the car said that it was 5 am. As she sat up straighter, Clint glanced over to her.

"No nightmares." He said.

"What?" She asked groggily.

"You didn't have any nightmares." He repeated. "That's not happened before."

"Yeah," she said. That was true; that was the first time in a long time that she'd slept without dreaming. "Yeah, I guess."

"That's good." He said unenthusiastically.

She nodded, and then they fell into silence again. It was like how they were when they first met, except she was wary of him now. "Clint-"

"Fury called." He said, cutting her off. "He said you can work for us if you want. But we need to sort out some passport information for you."

"Right." She said. "Clint."

"Yes?"

She opened her mouth, but then realised she didn't have a clue what she was going to say. The silence started again, for at least five minutes, until Clint burst out "They were kids, Nat!"

"Yeah, I know thanks."

"Don't you see what's wrong with that?"

"No, I don't." She said defiantly. He rolled his eyes disbelievingly. "Look, you must've grown up with people telling you that, I dunno, killing people is bad." She said.

"Something like that, yeah."

"Well, I grew up with people telling me that it's just what you do! I've never been taught that it's wrong." She explained. "Like how you keep leaving your wet towels on the bathroom floor. I bet no one ever told you that was wrong, but to me, it's just awful."

"Yeah, murdering children, leaving wet towels on the floor. That's the same thing." He said sarcastically.

"See, you've got to teach me this stuff; I don't know how you do things in America!"

"It's not really a cultural thing, Nat. You can take it as a kind of universal rule that you don't kill children."

"Not where I grew up! We were made to do that, it was our job! I was made to start a hospital fire once, and if I hadn't done it they'd have tortured me. Another time, they made me kill this politician's daughter, and once I'd done it, they rewarded me and treated me like their prize pupil. We never saw anyone as innocent or vulnerable, because no one had ever shown us that type of mercy." She said. His expression softened just a tiny bit. "Like I said, you've got to help me with this stuff."

He nodded slightly, and they were silent again for a while. "You want to sort out your passport information?"

She nodded excitedly. "So Natasha Romanoff is going to be my official name?"

"Well, now's your last chance to change your mind." He grinned.

"No, I like it." She decided.

He flipped open one of the compartments, looking for a pen. He handed it to her and said, "Okay, write down everything we decide. When's your birthday?"

"I dunno."

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

"Well, I worked for the KGB. They didn't exactly give us cake with candles to blow out." She said, rolling her eyes.

"You've never blown candles out on your cake?" He asked incredulously. She groaned. "I thought you said you saw a file once?" he asked.

"Yeah, but my birthday didn't seem that important. So, let's put… I dunno, April 24th."

"Okay, place of birth." He said. "Pick a state."

They had some fun making up a life for Natasha, and Clint introduced her to his favourite style of music. It sounded the same as every other type of music to her, but she nodded along enthusiastically to keep him quiet. They stopped to get food later that evening, and when they got back in the car, soaking wet from the rain, Natasha took over the driving so Clint could try and get some sleep.

"So what made Fury change his mind?" Natasha asked.

"Who knows what goes on in his head?" Clint said.

"Will I get to do missions or anything? Or will I be locked up until they can be sure I'm not going to murder them?"

"Fury said he'd get you a partner, just someone to keep watch on you until he can trust you. And you'll be doing missions, but the difficulty will depend on the level of the agent he partners you with-"

"I thought you said that you'd be my partner?" She said.

"Yeah, I thought that'd be what he'd do. I guess not, though."

"You mean I'm going to have to make friends with _more_ people than just you?" She asked disbelievingly. Being stared at by a bunch of jumpy entry level agents who had heard about her reputation didn't exactly sound fun.

"Yeah, sorry about that. I'll try and talk to him, though, if you want."

"Okay." She said. "Because if I have to be nice to you _and_ Fury, another person is really pushing it."

He laughed. After a while, he dropped off, so Natasha continued to drive on her own in silence.


	22. Day 21, Budapest

A car followed them round the corner. Clint had noticed it about five minutes ago, once it had followed him down an almost deserted road. Natasha was half asleep in the passenger's seat, refusing to admit she was tired. She was just _resting her eyes._ Of course.

He took a sharp turn onto another street. If it weren't for the heavy rain he might've been able to see the driver, but the downpour made everything blurry. Swerving to make the turn in time, the car continued to follow them.

The road they were now on was pretty busy. Hoping to lose the car in the traffic, he drummed his fingers on the wheel anxiously.

"Natasha." He said quietly.

She moaned a little and turned her head the other way.

"Nat, wake up." He said a little louder.

"I'm not 'sleep." She groaned defiantly.

"Yeah, right. I think someone's following us." He said. At this, Natasha sat up a little straighter.

"What? Who? Where are they?" She demanded.

"Don't look; it's the car behind us."

"Turn around here." She ordered, yawning.

He drove away from the traffic onto a quieter street, where he made a U-turn and drove back onto the road they were just on, but on the other side. The other car mimicked him. "Yep, definitely following us." Clint confirmed.

"Okay, there's an opening right there." Natasha pointed at a gap in the oncoming traffic on the other side of the road.

"We can't do that."

"Sure we can, quick!" She commanded.

"No!"

"Oh, move over." She sighed exasperatedly. She began clambering over to the driver's seat, until she was near enough sat on his knee.

"Nat- Natasha- what the fuck-" He spluttered as he climbed out from underneath her into the passenger's seat. She took control of the wheel.

_Shit, I'm going to die today, _he thought, as Natasha turned into the gap of traffic. "Nat- Nat, you're on the wrong side of the road. Nat, those cars are coming right at us. Nat. Natasha. Oh, fuck."

Behind them, the car was still following them. Weaving in and out of the cars coming at them, she reached into her pocket.

"God, Natasha, at least keep your hand on the fucking wheel!" He begged.

"Take that," She said, handing him her gun, "Don't use your bow."

"Watch the motherfucking road!" He bellowed.

"Relax, would you?" She said, casually flicking the wheel a little and leaning back in her seat.

"You're a bitch. You know that, right?" He spat, winding down the window to lean out and shoot at the car's front window. As some bullets came soaring towards his face, he ducked back into the car. "Just get us out of this." He pleaded.

"Why, scared?" She grinned, letting go of the wheel and only steering away from the sidewalk just in time.

"Stop fucking with me, Nat." he said through gritted teeth.

She laughed evilly and if she hadn't been driving him away from almost certain death then he would have told her just how much he hated her right now.

Soon enough, Natasha had driven them away from the busy road and down some empty ones. Once the car following them was out of sight, they got out of the car and hastily started walking around in random directions, leaving the car behind.


	23. Day 22, Budapest

"But isn't that a kids game?" Natasha asked, as she and Clint continued their trek to the coordinates Fury had given them. They'd decided to go on foot for a while, just to be safe. Natasha immediately regretted this decision, because _surprise_, _surprise_, Budapest in February was cold. Clint hadn't stopped whining the whole way. The air was chilly and there was very light snow fall that turned to slush under their feet, flicking up the backs of their legs and into their shoes.

"I do it with Coulson. It passes the time." Clint said sulkily.

"But still, _isn't it a kids game_?"

"Fine, we can just keep walking in silence." Clint sighed dramatically. "With nothing to distract us from the cold."

"Stop whining, it's not _that_ cold." She said, rolling her eyes.

"It's fucking freezing, Natasha. It's cold enough that I can't feel my fingers, which is too cold. You're just used to it."

"I'm sorry, do you want my coat?" She said sarcastically.

"Yeah, I do actually." He said sincerely. She raised her eyebrows. "Please play."

"Fine." She cringed. "I spy… No, I can't do it." She said.

"You don't have to do the rhyme." He said pointedly.

"Okay, z."

He looked around. After a while he said "I have no idea, I give up."

"Zipper."

"Zipper?"

"Yeah, the one on your pants has been undone for the past two hours." She informed him.

"You're a bitch." He said.

She began to laugh. "I know." She said smugly.

"Seriously, I hate you."

"I know."

"You're going to rot in hell."

"I know."


	24. Day 23, Budapest

"Nat, can we _please_ stop at a hotel?" Clint begged. They'd been walking for almost two days now, and Clint's eyes had been closed half the way.

"No. We can find a hotel when we're there." Natasha said resolutely.

"We're going to get there on time, and even if we don't, S.H.I.E.L.D will still hire you." He sighed. He knew what she was doing. She'd explained it to him an hour before, when they'd had this same argument. She wanted to get to the coordinates before anything could get in the way. She made this whole speech about how if it seems too good to be true, then it probably is, and that something was definitely going to go wrong and some other stuff he wasn't really listening to because he was trying to see if he could train himself to sleepwalk on demand.

"We're almost there." She insisted.

"No, we're not! Please, Natasha, I'm tired."

"Clint."

"I mean, we've been walking for two days! I know you have no weaknesses and whatever, but I do, Nat, I'm human, I need to sleep!" He moaned.

"Clint, shut up."

"No, I-"

"Clint, shut the fuck up, now!" She whispered urgently. "A woman just came round the corner. I recognise her; I used to work with her. Shit, there's another one. There are more of them. Clint, they've found us."

"Relax, this is a crowded street. We'll figure something out." He said, still half asleep.

"You don't understand; they won't care if it's crowded, they wouldn't care if we were in a freaking preschool! Come on, we've got to get somewhere quieter, there's innocent people here."

"Aw, I really have had an influence on you, haven't I?" He smiled sleepily.

"For god's sake." She rolled her eyes and started pushing him into an alleyway. "We're just going to have to deal with them here. Get your arrow out."

"But I'm tired." He mumbled, his eyes closing as he leant against the wall.

Slapping him across the face, she said, "Wake up, now!"

"Ughhh." He grumbled, unzipping their bag to retrieve his bow.

"Clint, be careful. You know, maybe if you're this tired you should just hide and let me try and deal with this."

"You must have a really low opinion of me." He said, handing her a gun.

"Right, whatever. Come on." She said, checking it was loaded.

"Ready?" He asked, nocking his arrow.

"Ready."

They waited for a second; before Clint said "Wouldn't it have looked so cool if they'd have found us just then as we said- Oh, never mind."

Three people turned into the alley, each pulling guns out. At first, he and Natasha just had to dodge the bullets, but soon enough they got their own shots in. Natasha called over to him to cover her, as she moved in closer to do her thigh grip roll type move that Clint thought was really cool, and then slam the guy's head into the concrete floor. Clint aimed an arrow at a woman that pointed her gun at Natasha, and there was a dull thud as he found his mark.

Clint looked up and groaned – the third man had Natasha pinned up against the wall, a knife to her neck and was saying something to her in Russian that he couldn't hear. Clint readied himself to take a shot, but the man looked back at him threateningly and pressed the knife against Natasha's neck, not with enough pressure to cut her but enough that Clint got the message. Sneering, he began to talk to her again. She eyed him with disgust, and then looked over at Clint, who was still trying to work out what to do.

"Clint, remember our deal." She said, pretty calmly for someone who seemed about to die.

"What?" He said, completely nonplussed, his bow hanging uselessly at his side. The man looked between them; Clint suspected he didn't speak English.

"They've got back up; more of them are on the way. You said if they got me…"

"Oh." He said, only half listening, still trying to work out an escape plan.

"They don't want you, so if you hurry up…" she added, getting a little impatient as the man dragged he knife under her chin.

"Nat, I need you to be really quick when I do what I'm about to do." He said. She nodded confusedly.

Clint stepped back pulled back the string of his bow at lightning speed. Before the man realised what had happened, Clint had taken a shot at the hand holding the knife that was now falling to the ground. Natasha kneed him and he doubled over, giving Clint time to shoot him in the back.

"C'mon," Clint said, grabbing her hand and pulling her down the alleyway to the street on the other side.

"Clint, more of them are coming."

"I don't care, come on, if we're quick they won't know which way we went."

She hesitated.

"Natasha, they're not going to follow us all the way to America. It's just a little further. We can make it, okay?" He said, tugging on her hand a little. She nodded, and they hurried down the street, trying to lose themselves in the busy streets.

**Disclaimer: I haven't done this in a while, so just to confirm, I don't own Marvel or any of its characters. Shocker.**

**I just want to say thanks again to anyone who's read this story, and a big thanks to anyone who's favourited or followed or reviewed. Please do review; I really like to hear what you think about the story. **


	25. Day 24, Budapest

After they'd hopefully lost anyone still following them, Natasha had refused to stop anywhere until they reached the coordinates. However, Clint seemed like he was about to collapse from exhaustion, and she was kind of tired herself. Once she'd decided they were close enough, he'd immediately dragged her to the nearest hotel, hurried to the room they paid for and collapsed on the bed. She sat at on it next to him and tried to talk to him.

"If you need to sleep, I'll keep watch. I still think there's someone following us." She said, punching his arm lightly to wake him up.

"Yeah."

"We'll have to get going soon tomorrow. I don't want to be late for S.H.I.E.L.D."

"Mmm."

"What time are they picking us up again?" She asked.

"Uh huh."

"Ugh." She rolled her eyes, and left him to sleep. Wanting to keep watch, she remained sat up on the bed, but she'd been walking for a while, and soon she began to drop off.

* * *

><p>"Natasha?"<p>

"Wh- What time is it?" she said, sitting up straighter.

"Around eleven thirty. Okay, so, I have no problem if you wanna share the bed instead of taking the couch, but if you pull the duvet away from me one more time I'm going to kick you out."

"What? How long have I been asleep for?" she demanded.

"Dunno." He mumbled, rolling over and burying his face in the pillow.

Her eyes began to open properly and she knew she wouldn't get any more sleep that night. She began to crack her knuckles until Clint moaned, his voice muffled in the pillow, "Nat, stop!"

"That annoys you?"

"Yes!" he grunted.

"Okay." She smiled, continuing to crack her knuckles closer to his ear.

"I hate you."

"So I believe." She smirked.

"Get some sleep."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want you watching me, it's creepy."

"Tough shit."

"Ugh."


	26. Day 25, Budapest

Clint woke up cold. Sitting up, he realised Natasha had once again stolen the duvet. She was lying on the bed with one leg and one arm hanging off, as if she was waiting to jump out at any attackers. Deciding she could probably benefit from some extra sleep, he left to the bathroom to have a shower. A tired Natasha would be an angry Natasha, and that was not a good mix with Nick Fury.

Hopefully, this was the last hotel they'd have to stop in before S.H.I.E.L.D picked them up. They had another day's walk to go and they'd be at the coordinates. As much as he enjoyed being constantly chased by the KGB, he really wanted to get back and have a simple, quick job that he could do without too much thinking. Assuming, of course, Fury didn't ship him off to a warzone as punishment for going against orders.

Once he got back in the room, Natasha was still asleep. He would happily have left her whilst he got some breakfast, but she would probably slit his throat if she didn't get an early start. Tentatively, he stepped closer to her and tapped her on the right shoulder. He had learnt a couple of days ago that when she was woken up, she jumped up to the left and started stabbing at the air, so he made sure to stay on the other side.

After she'd decided he came in peace, she said groggily, "Time to go?" He nodded, and she headed to the bathroom to have a shower.

They had breakfast in the hotel, and then started to check out. Just as they were leaving the hotel, they bumped into a woman handing out free pots of something or other on a tray. She offered them one; it was something in a different language that he'd never heard of. He took one without hesitation.

"Don't eat that! You have no idea what it is." Natasha chastised as they left the hotel.

"Sure I do, it's a freebie." He smiled, looking at it closely.

"Have you never been poisoned?" She asked disdainfully. "'Cause once you have, you learn to not eat stuff strangers give you."

"I actually have. Coulson gave me something with shellfish in, which it turned out I'm allergic to. I was in the med bay and I couldn't breathe properly-" He faltered under the exasperated look she gave him. "Okay, I've never been officially poisoned. So I'm gonna eat the freebie."

"Fine, don't blame me when you're dead." She said casually.

"I'll try to let it go." He said, and they began to walk to the coordinates for the last time.


	27. Day 26, Budapest

_She_ _had_ _told_ _him_.

Did he listen? Of course not. Natasha started to realise about half a mile ago what'd happened, and it'd been hard to get him this far.

The woman handing out free stuff at the hotel had obviously been undercover, because Clint had eaten the thing she gave him and right now he was high as a kite. Which was not ideal, because the KGB had caught up with them and they were currently under fire.

"Boom, boom, boom! Bang, shpooooow!" Clint was shouting, firing an imaginary gun at nothing in particular. For the fiftieth time, Natasha grabbed his arm and dragged him behind the car they were taking cover behind. _She had told him not to eat the damn thing._

"Stay. Still." She hissed, forcing him to sit down.

He crossed his arms and sat grumpily. Peering through the car windows, she tried to ascertain where the shooters were. She came to the conclusion that they were just about everywhere.

"Fury! Hellooooooo!" Clint started to say behind her.

"Fury's there? Give me-"

She yanked the earpiece off his head, and he gave a loud "Hey!" in protest.

"Fury? I mean, sir? Or-" she stuttered, pulling Clint back behind the car, just as a bullet went soaring past his head.

"Where's Hawkeye?" Fury demanded. "Is he drunk _again_?"

"Sir, I think he's been drugged." She said. "We're a street away from the coordinates you gave us, and we're under fire."

"You think you can get him there?"

She looked at him doubtfully. "I can try."

"Okay. We're going to get some back up to you as soon as possible. Get as close as you can. Over."

Natasha found Clint's bow for him and handed him his quiver. "Think you can shoot straight for me?" She asked, with the air of one talking to a three year old.

"Meh." He said, balancing one of the arrows on his finger.

"Well, that's gonna have to do." She decided, resisting the urge to roll her eyes and hit him on the head. Clint had said they needed to get to a field where something called a quinjet would be landing to pick them up. "You're shooting in that direction." She instructed, hoping something would get through to him.

Natasha herself loaded her two handguns. Trying to get Clint to follow her, she began shooting in the general direction of the bullets being fired at them. She backed them down the street, never turning her back and praying they were going in the right direction. They were going down a deserted street that had the odd car they could take cover behind. Further down the street, Natasha could see the quinjet landing on a large patch of grass she guessed was the field.

Dragging Clint a little further, they managed to make it down the street dodging the bullets. Clint seemed oblivious to the fact that he wasn't actually letting go of any of the arrows, just pulling them backwards and forth.

Figures dressed in S.H.I.E.L.D uniforms were jumping out of the quinjet and running in their direction. She and Clint were stood side by side, firing at anything that moved. They were almost there… If she just got them to the quinjet, she'd have escaped the KGB, they'd have failed to kill her and she could start again.

But that wasn't how things went for her.

All the wind was knocked from her as a burning pain pierced through her abdomen. She stumbled back and she barely registered Clint saying "Whoopsie, I'll get you a Band-Aid."

She knew she couldn't let herself fall; she had to keep moving and shooting. In complete agony, she started to raise her arm to keep firing, but the edges of her vision had started to black out and she couldn't aim properly. This was a time she'd really have appreciated a partner who had a clue what was going on.

She felt her knees begin to shake before they gave way, and she remained conscious just long enough to feel a pair of arms touching her on either side, but without the power to hit them away, she just let the world fade out completely.


	28. Day 27, Budapest

Clint woke up in a hospital bed, still in his uniform. It was stained in blood. Was that his? He doubted it – if he'd been injured, he'd be hooked up to a load of machines and there would be nurses fussing over him.

What had happened? He was in the S.H.I.E.L.D medical bay, and the curtains were pulled around his bed. He had no idea how he'd gotten there.

Where was Natasha? Pulling the curtains back, he peered around the room looking for her, visions flashing across his mind of Natasha attacking nurses trying to treat her. Assuming, of course, she was here; he really couldn't remember anything that had happened.

Spotting Phil Coulson in the corner, he made his way past all the hospital beds towards him. "Hey, Coulson!"

"Clint, you're awake!"

"Yeah, what the hell happened?" He asked.

"We don't know exactly. When you came in, there was a drug in your system – you were pretty high, Natalia almost didn't manage to get you back. Luckily, we got there just as she was shot."

"She was shot? You could have lead with that!" Clint said irately. "Is she okay?"

"She's fine. She's not woken up yet, but the doctors said that she's doing great."

"Where is she?"

"In one of those beds, down there." Coulson said, pointing and leading the way. "Do you remember anything?"

"Nope. How long have I been here?" Clint asked.

"Just since yesterday. Here she is."

Clint looked at Natasha lay on the bed, and resisted the urge to laugh. "They changed her into a hospital gown. Who did that? They're not going to be alive much longer."

"They had to do a few surgeries on her, but she's going to recover quite quickly." Coulson informed him. "Fury wants to debrief you when you're ready."

"Thanks, I'll wait here for a little while." Clint said, thinking it was best she woke up to him instead of a bunch of strangers. He made himself comfortable on the empty bed next to her.

Coulson looked at her warily, before sitting on the end of the bed Clint had sat on. "So, is it true you could have killed her? Fury wouldn't tell me."

"Yep. She's pretty good, but nothing I can't handle." Clint boasted confidently. "Don't tell her I said that though, she'll kill me." He added hastily.

Coulson laughed. "Right. And she really hasn't tried to murder you or anything?"

"Not really." Clint smiled.

Coulson looked uneasily between them. "Well, you sure know how to pick your friends. I'm going to go let Fury know you're awake." He stood up to leave, nodding at Clint before he walked away.

Lying back, Clint glanced at Natasha. Despite that they'd fucked up the mission on so many different occasions, he'd actually enjoyed working with her. He'd been a bit unsure about how capable of change she really was, but by the sound of it, he'd be dead right now if it wasn't for her. He'd go as far as to say he actually enjoyed her company, or maybe he'd just gotten used to her after a month of her constant presence. He definitely wasn't scared of her anymore. Maybe, when he was assigned to his next mission, he could ask Fury for a partner, because having one didn't turn out to be as bad as Clint always thought it would be.


	29. Day 28, Budapest

"Hey, you're up." a voice said.

Natasha's eyes opened wider. She could hear people talking and she didn't recognise where she was. Immediately, her hand jerked towards her hip where her gun should be holstered, only to find it wasn't there. Looking around, she deduced she was in a hospital. There were tubes going into her body. People in uniform were everywhere, and she didn't recognise any of them. She couldn't remember anything – not that she tried, she just followed her first instincts that told her to get the hell out of there.

Ripping the tubes out of her body, she tried to stand up. Her hands automatically clenched into fists, and she tried to get into a fighting stance ready to find her way out. Before she could, however, her legs began to give way, she felt lightheaded and the room started to spin. She caught a quick and blurred image of a man she recognised in front of her, and she suspected it was his arms around her as she blacked out.

* * *

><p>When her eyelids fluttered open, she once again reached for her missing gun. Something seized her hand. She adjusted her eyes, and looked around. She was in a hospital, strange people in uniforms everywhere. There were tubes going into her body. Her first instincts told her to rip them out and to get out of the place, but there were hands on her wrists holding her down. After struggling for a moment, she looked to her side and identified the hands as Clint's.<p>

"Hello again." He said.

"Where the hell am I, Clint?" she demanded.

"You're in the S.H.I.E.L.D medical bay. You were shot as you were trying us back to the quinjet. You're fine now; you're just recovering from some surgeries, so you can't pull these out." He told her forcefully, nodding towards the tubes.

"How long have I been here?"

"Nearly two days."

"And… We escaped? We're out of Budapest?" she asked tentatively.

"We did. We're on the S.H.I.E.L.D helicarrier." Clint had told her something about a helicarrier, but her head hurt too much to try and remember it. "We're on our way to a base that's on the ground."

"Where is it?" she asked, hoping it was far away from Russia.

"I don't know."

"How long is it going to take?"

"I don't know."

"Do we have any information on what the KGB did when we escaped?"

"I don't know."

"Haven't you asked?" she said exasperatedly, angry at the lack of information.

"No, I've been here waiting for you to wake up." he said bemusedly.

"What good did that do anyone?" She said, annoyed.

"I can't win with you. You'd have killed yourself trying to stand up if I hadn't have been here." He said, annoyed.

She rolled her eyes. "Can I sit up?"

He reached for the little remote that controlled the bed.

"Clint, wrong button!"

"I know." He laughed. "I'm sorry." He spotted a man that entered the med bay. "Hey, Coulson!" He shouted. The man looked vaguely irritated for a second before walking over. "Nat, this is Coulson. I told you about him, right?"

Natasha didn't bother to answer; she was too busy sizing the guy up. He looked rather like Clint when she'd first met him. Terrified, but too proud to show it. He gave her a curt little nod which she didn't return.

"He's going to be your handler too, so he's your boss as well." Clint said in a light tone. Natasha continued to watch Coulson until Clint said, "Don't worry, she'll warm up to you." She turned to glare at Clint. Coulson looked at him like he was mad for trying to joke with her.

They began to talk about people Natasha didn't know, and it didn't seem like very significant information, so she turned her gaze on a group of nurses just a few beds away from them. They kept shooting fervent glances at her, and they were arguing over something. It didn't take her long to realise they were arguing over who had to treat her. Finally, one of them seemed to give in, put on a bright smile and walked over to her.

"Good morning." She said in a falsely cheery voice. "Feeling okay?"

Natasha stared at her coldly. She was scared, confused, and the nurse's voice was annoying. Clint looked between them before intervening. "She's feeling fine, thanks."

The nurse didn't plan on giving up, though. "Okay, well Tasha – do you prefer Tasha or Natasha?" Natasha gave her a look that quite plainly said _neither,_ and the nurse looked helplessly to Clint.

"She… Just – How's she doing?" He asked.

"Her platelets are a little low, but she should be out of here soon." The nurse said, only addressing Clint now.

"Great, thanks." He said. The nurse walked away. "Nat, they're just trying to help." He told her exasperatedly.

She rolled her eyes. Apparently she had a headache, because it felt like someone was drilling into the side of her head..

"I know they're annoying when you're recovering but you don't have to act so intimidating around everyone." He told her.

"Uh, I'm gonna go now." Coulson said awkwardly. He turned to Natasha uncomfortably. "Director Fury would like to see you both for debriefing as soon as possible… or, you know, whenever you're feeling up to it…" He trailed off, turned on his heel and left the med bay.

"I hate this, Clint." She moaned. "And I don't like being on a hospital bed in a hospital gown while everyone stands over me."

"I know. But no one likes the med bay, Tasha. When you're out of here, I'll find you an empty training room where you can beat some stuff up for a while. Deal?"

"Deal."


	30. Day 29, Budapest

Clint was with Natasha in the medical bay, waiting to take her to the debriefing with Fury. The nurses were doing some last minute check-ups very nervously. Clint had already had to help her get changed into her new S.H.I.E.L.D uniform because she refused to leave her bed in a hospital gown and she flinched anytime the nurses came near her. Not that he was complaining, of course. Once the nurses had declared her fit to leave, they hurried away as fast as they could. He tried to help her up.

"Clint, I don't need your help. I can stand up by myself." She snapped.

"I know you can." He said drily as she tried to push herself up and almost fell onto the floor. "But just let me help, for my sake."

She clutched her side in pain as she sat back down again. "Well, if you really need to." She said through gritted teeth.

Leaning on him heavily, she let him lead her to Nick Fury's office. Fury watched her carefully as they entered and Clint helped her sit down. Once she was settled, she stared right back at him. Clint knew they were both trying to work out everything they could about the other. Clint knew both of them pretty well, so he coughed to break the silence.

"So, you're improving." Fury said. Natasha nodded. "Well, as Barton's probably told you, we've decided to give you a place at S.H.I.E.L.D. Most of our agents go to our Academy, but I'll bet that's kindergarten to you. We still want you to do at least some basic training with us though. As soon as you've done that, you can begin working with us. Under strict supervision."

"Okay." She said.

"If you ever need anything, Agent Coulson will be your handler."

"Right." She said.

"Now, if you don't mind, I need reports on what you've been doing. It was Agent Barton's mission, but as you know, he wasn't quite there for the whole thing."

"Sure."

They began their debriefing, Clint sitting back and letting Natasha do the work. Usually, he hated having to sit in Fury's office and analyse everything he'd done, but Natasha seemed to be great at it, which meant he could leave it all to her.

"…And then he ate it." Natasha said, giving Clint an annoyed glance.

"Of course he did." Fury said exasperatedly.

"Here we go." Clint sighed.

"I did tell you." Natasha said.

"Whatever."

"What happened after that?" Fury said loudly, as Natasha opened her mouth to retort.

"After about an hour or so he started to go all weird, and I practically had to drag him to the coordinates, then a bunch of agents came and started firing, which is when you called, and I took Clint's earpiece and talked to you."

"And that's when backup came." Fury finished.

"Yes, sir."

"Okay, well if that's all, then I guess we're done here. This is the end of Mission Black Death. You're both dismissed."


	31. March 10th, 10:03

Idiots.

Everywhere.

Natasha could vaguely remember her first 'training' session. She'd been lined up with the other girls; they stood in silence and waited to for the boss to come and put the fear of god in them. Now, she wasn't exactly a fan of the Red Room's methods, but they had to be more effective than the circus she was in right now. All the new recruits were stupid and immature and after what she'd been through to get here it seemed like a waste to give S.H.I.E.L.D jobs to these pricks when so many people like her weren't getting the chance.

Agent Hill made her way into the room. Natasha had never formally met Agent Hill, but she'd decided she liked her. From what she'd seen, all the other agents were scared of her, including Clint.

Hill arrived talking to a guy Natasha guessed was their instructor. He glanced over to Natasha's corner – Hill must've come down here to warn him. _Psst, that's the Black Widow, don't piss her off or she'll eat you. _Natasha hoped they didn't bring this to everyone's attention – she didn't want to spend her whole time here with people looking at her like she might explode.

They were in a large gym; all the equipment had been pushed to the side and exercise mats pulled to the middle. The agents started to huddle together just in front of Natasha's corner, waiting for the instructor to start. She watched everyone in the group, assessing their strengths and picking out their weaknesses.

The instructor called for the group to get into a circle, and then picked out two people to get on the mats and fight so he could assess what level they were at and decide how best to deal with them.

Natasha knew this class was just so Fury could keep a watch on her, but did it have to be so demeaning? This class was for agents not qualified for the field yet, level 1 agents (who still had a higher clearance level than she did). She half expected Clint to jump out with a video camera at any moment.


	32. March 11th, 20:18

Clint had been sent on a simple assassination mission. He'd been expecting to be punished harshly, but if anything, he'd been rewarded. Fury had given him a quick and easy job, and best of all, it could be done at a distance – his favourite kind. He'd dealt with it swiftly, and was already on his way back to S.H.I.E.L.D.

Just as was walking back down a busy street, his phone started ringing. Natasha's name flashed across the screen.

"Clint?" Her voice asked.

"Hey." He said. "I see you worked out how to use your phone."

Natasha was silent for a moment, in which Clint could practically hear her rolling her eyes. "I know how to use a phone. I could hack into-"

"I saw you shouting at Siri the other day."

"Whatever, have you talked to Fury yet?" She demanded.

He grinned and ignored her. "So, how was your first day in training?" he asked sardonically.

"I'm going to kill myself. Or one of them, I don't know." She said.

"You know, Fury's just making you do this to show you who's in charge."

"It's not even just that they're all _so_ awful. Their heads are so inflated I'm surprised they can stand upright."

"Poor you." He said sarcastically.

"Please help me." she whined.

"I'm sorry, is that the Black Widow asking for help?" He asked in mock astonishment.

"Just because you can't see me, it doesn't mean I can't find a way to kill you right now."

He laughed. "All right, I'll talk to Fury. See you tomorrow, Nat." He said, and she hung up the phone.


	33. March 12th, 12:26

Everyone was gathered in a circle around the exercise mats in the gym once again. The instructor had given up on trying to involve Natasha, and just let her stand at the back and pass the time on her own. So far that day, she'd rolled her eyes so many times she was surprised they weren't stuck there permanently. In fact, when one of the agents tripped over the edge of the mat, and she heard a poorly disguised snort of laughter from behind her, for a moment she was sure it'd been her.

"Wow, your new friends sure are talented." Someone whispered in her ear.

She whipped round to see Clint smirking at the couple sparring on the exercise mat.

"Please say you talked to Fury." She muttered back.

"Not yet. I tried, but he said, '_Barton, if you ask me one more favour, I'm going to ship your ass out to a solitary ship in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, now get out of my office._'" Natasha sighed. "Sorry. We'll find some other way to get him to let you out."

She sighed. "This is painful." She muttered, as a guy on the mat made a punch on target, right in his partners gut, then stopped to apologise.

"God, I hope I didn't look this bad when I arrived." Clint said.

"You had to do this too?"

"Well, yeah. I've always been a good shot, but when it came to hand to hand combat I was never any good." Clint told her. "I always left that kind of stuff to Barney when-" he stopped abruptly, like he'd said something he shouldn't.

"Who?"

"Never mind." He said distantly. Natasha raised an eyebrow at him, but sensed that she should change the subject.

"So did you just come here to distract me from my all-important education, or did you want something?"

For a moment he still looked out of it. "I, uh…" the door banged open and Clint groaned. "Busted."

Marching towards them, Coulson rolled his eyes at Clint. "I told you to come to my office an hour and a half ago."

"Really? Clint asked casually. "I don't recall."

"I need your paperwork for your mission in Budapest. And the one you just went on, for that matter."

"Sure thing, I'll just need to make a quick trip down to the tech department-" Clint began.

"When you pick up Russian assassins and bring them home, you have to do your own paperwork, Clint, not pay the IT guys to do it for you." Coulson said sternly. Clint rolled his eyes. "You shouldn't even be in here."

"I know, I'm going." Clint sighed.

"Get your paperwork done, Barton. And Natasha, get back to training." Coulson ordered. Natasha looked at him, affronted. He faltered. "Or, you know, don't, or whatever."


	34. March 18th, 2:57

Clint's phone began ringing, waking him up. Yawning, he rolled over to answer it. "Hello?"

"Barton, it's 3 am." Coulson said angrily. "It's way too early to be dealing with this shit."

"What? I've not done anything!" Clint said groggily.

"_You_ can go down to gym, and _you_ can sort this out." Coulson hung up the phone abruptly.

After groaning loudly into his pillow, he dragged himself out of bed to put more clothes on and head down to the gym. Although he had an apartment, he liked to stay in the rooms S.H.I.E.L.D provided for agents staying overnight. Once he got to the gym, all he found was Natasha attacking a punching bag.

"Natasha."

She spun around. "Oh, hi."

"Nat, what did you do?" He asked tiredly, his voice still croaky and his eyes still adjusting to the light.

"Nothing!" She said defensively.

"Why have I been sent down here, then?"

"Some agent was down here hitting on me and I told him to fuck off. So then he started saying I can't be down here this late because my clearance level isn't high enough, and I may have threatened him just a little." She said.

"It's too early for this." He sighed. "Can't you just go to bed?"

"Can't sleep." She said, returning to the punching bag.

"Fine, but you really aren't allowed to be down here."

"Then just give me your ID card, and I'll have your clearance level." She suggested.

"You're not having my ID card." He said firmly. "Come on." He led her out of the gym. "This is going to be my job forever now, isn't it? Talking to you when everyone else is too scared."

"Where are we going?"

"I'm taking you to the roof."

"Why?" She asked bemusedly.

"Because it's relaxing." He told her.

"It's the middle of the night, it'll be freezing_._" She moaned.

"Come on." he found the familiar trap door that led up to the roof. "The best part is that you can't get in any trouble up here." They climbed up the ladders and Clint winced slightly as the night air slapped him in the face. The sky was still dark; the only light came from streetlamps way below them. Silence filled the air, apart from the occasional siren from way down in the streets. He sat down in his favourite spot. "You can just sit there and find inner peace or whatever, and I can go back to sleep."

"You're going to sleep on the roof?"

"I can sleep anywhere." He said happily. "Especially the roof. I practically lived up here for my first month at S.H.I.E.L.D ."

"Really?"

"Yeah, it's great. I used to have a lot of unresolved anger when I joined, you can work it all out up here." He said earnestly. "You can just sit here and watch the sunrise and look down at all the people and just imagine how easy it'd be to send an arrow right through their heads."

"Aw, that sounds so nice." She smiled sarcastically.

"Yep. Now, I'm going to sleep now, I'm going to trust you to not _actually _shoot anyone, okay?" He ignored her glare as he lay himself face down on the floor and let his eyes close again.

**A/N: Hey guys, I just wanted to say thanks again to anyone who's read this story, followed it, favourited it or reviewed it. Please review, it really helps, and I love to hear feedback from you guys.**


	35. March 24th, 11:15

Natasha had given up with her training classes. She was the Black Widow, and she refused to subject herself to that humiliation… Anymore. S.H.I.E.L.D had provided her with her own room at headquarters, so she was just going to lie in bed until someone came in and forced her to move. Which was soon, apparently, because someone was knocking at her door.

She left them to it, figuring they'd get in when they needed to. Sure enough, when no one answered the door, it swung open by itself. _At least I still have my privacy,_ she thought sadistically. Expecting to see someone ready to drag her to training, she sat up, only to see Clint smiling at her from the doorway.

"When someone doesn't let you in," She said, lying back down, "It's usually a signal to go away, not to open the door and barge in anyway."

"You are going to love me." He grinned, walking over to her bed and pulling her upright.

"Why, did you bring alcohol?" She asked hopefully.

"Better. I went to Fury to do some more persuading."

"And?"

"And, he is super pissed at me. He has to get his whole office redecorated. But who cares, because guess who's finished their training?"

"Seriously?" She exclaimed.

"Uh huh. Under one condition. You have to go for a round with Coulson and a lie detector."

"That's it?" She said, a little disbelievingly.

"Yep. I guess that's why Fury wanted you in training; to keep an eye on you 'till you did the test. Apparently, he's been designing it especially for you. I hope you feel special." He winked.

* * *

><p>"Agent Romanoff, Agent Barton." Coulson nodded as they walked into the room. It was empty, bar three seats. Two of them were simple desk chairs, facing the third, which Natasha guessed was hers. Instead of armrests, there were two nice handcuff looking things, and the headrest looked oddly sinister.<p>

Coulson awkwardly gestured to the chair, clearly wanting to seem professional but also not wanting to tell her what to do. Clint began dealing with the chair. He closed the handcuff things around her wrists and was tying something connected to a wire around her finger when he looked her in the eye and murmured, "You'd better pass this, Romanoff." Natasha naturally assumed he was joking until she caught the seriousness of his tone.

"I'm planning on it." She whispered back to him sincerely.

"Uh…" Coulson said awkwardly, standing at the back of the room.

"She's ready." Clint informed him, stepping back and sitting down on his seat.

Coulson began to explain how the lie detector worked. "So, Agent Barton may have told you, but this has been designed specifically for you. The polygraph measures ninety six different variables, galvanic skin response, oxygen consumption, pupil dilation, micro-expressions, biofeedback, brainwaves, voice biometrics, you get the idea. You ready?"

She nodded. Though she wasn't intending to lie, she decided it was best to prepare herself for the situation. She relaxed all her muscles, wiped her face blank, and looked at Coulson in the eye. Mentally, she had to do much more. She had to detach herself, so a lie wouldn't show on her physicality. None of the questions they asked would affect her. Whatever she said would just be words, bearing no weight of a truth or a lie.

"Right. I need to ask a few questions to establish a baseline. What is your full name?"

They were off to a good start. "Natasha Romanoff, but you know that's probably not my real name, right?"

"I know. Just answer the questions as best as you can with the first thing that comes to your mind. What's your eye colour?"

"Green."

"Have you ever been married?"

"Not that I know of."

"List your immediate family."

Natasha stared at him. "Pass."

"Sorry," Coulson apologised awkwardly. "These are the questions Fury gave me. Do still have any ties with the KGB?"

"No."

"What's the difference between an egg and a rock?"

"An egg will smash."

"Do you have any ties with any associations other than S.H.I.E.L.D or the KGB?"

"No."

"You wash up alone on a deserted island; sitting on the sand is a box. What is in the box?"

"What is the box made of?" Natasha asked.

"It doesn't matter, just the first thing that comes into your head."

"Well, I wouldn't open the box until I had an idea of what was inside." Natasha reasoned. "What if it was a bomb?"

"It's not a bomb." Coulson told her impatiently.

"How do I know that?"

"You decide what's in the box!"

"Why would I get to decide what's in the box?"

"It's to determine where your priorities lie." Coulson told her irritably. "Do you find a weapon, a personal possession, something to help you survive…?"

"Don't you think that's a bit of a leading question?" Natasha asked. "I think telling me the answer will mess with the results."

"What's the island like?" Clint interrupted. "What's the terrain, and the temperature-"

"He just told you the terrain, it's sandy." Natasha said. "Pay attention."

"But what's the terrain for the rest of the island like?" Clint asked.

"Clint, could you wait outside?"

"The only terrain that matters is the sandy one where the box that's potentially going to explode is." Natasha countered.

"It's not going to explode." Coulson sighed exasperatedly, putting his head in his hands.

"I'd probably want my cell phone to call someone to come and get me." Clint suggested.

"I wouldn't, you're the only contact I have on mine." Natasha told him.

"Yeah, so if you called me I'd be able to come and get you." Clint said.

"Not if you're the one who sent me there."

"Do you have any ulterior motives in joining S.H.I.E.L.D?" Coulson interrupted, clearly tired with the question.

"No."

Finally, staring at her attentively, Coulson asked, "Do you intend to be loyal to S.H.I.E.L.D?"

She stared back, and after a moment she said, "Yes."

Coulson nodded. "Well, I think that's everythi-"

"Wait," Clint interrupted again. He stood up, walked over to her and leant down to whisper in her ear. "When we were in Salkov's house, if I hadn't been there, would you have killed that family?"

Funnily enough, it was a lot harder to lie to Clint than to Coulson, which was just one of the reasons Natasha thought that getting close to people would mess things up for you as a spy. She decided instead to go with the truth. Besides, Clint breathing down her neck like that would probably fuck with the results anyway. "Yes." She said. "But I wouldn't now."

He watched her carefully. "Did you eat the last slice of pizza the other day?"

"No." Okay, maybe it wasn't _that_ hard to lie to Clint.

"You done?" Coulson asked uncomfortably.

Satisfied, Clint turned to nod at Coulson.

"Okay. Director Fury will look over the results, and if he's happy, you will be fully initiated into S.H.I.E.L.D. Thank you." He gave an awkward nod before exiting the room and leaving Clint to untie Natasha.

**A/N: Hey it's the lie detector from Agents of Shield. Strange. **


	36. March 27th, 8:33

Clint got up early to find Coulson to see if he had Natasha's results. He found him wandering the halls in a state of ecstasy, and when he saw Clint he bounced up to him.

"Barton, have you heard?" Coulson asked excitedly.

"What, did Fury give you the results?"

"No, but he's sending a team to the Antarctic." Coulson told him, positively beaming.

"That's great, Coulson, but do you know if he's looked at the results yet?"

"Clint?" Both men turned around to see Natasha walking down a corridor towards them. "Have they got the results yet?"

Clint shrugged and looked expectantly at Coulson.

"I don't know, but they're sending a team to the Antarctic!" Coulson told Natasha. Apparently, he was so excited he forgot to be scared of her. Clint grinned at the bemused look on Natasha's face.

"Uh, great…" She said uncertainly.

"Come on, he's not going to be any help right now." Clint said, pulling Natasha in the direction of Fury's office.

"What's with him?" She asked as they walked.

"The Antarctic is where Captain America crashed his ship back in the… 1940s, I think. I always tune out when Coulson gets to the words, _You know, Captain America…_ He's been trying to convince Fury to send a team out to find him for forever. He's a man very much in love."

"What type of a name is _Captain America_?"

"The name of a true patriot, Miss Romanoff." Clint smiled courteously, holding open the door to Fury's office for her whilst she rolled her eyes.

"You two know that it's polite to knock, don't you?" Fury said from behind his desk, annoyance flickering across his face.

"I wanted to know if you'd looked at my results." Natasha said, sitting down in one of the chairs facing Fury.

"You know, patience is a virtue I expect to see in my agents, Romanoff." Fury raised his eyebrows at her.

"I passed?" Natasha said, her eyes widening a little.

"Were you not expecting to?" He asked suspiciously.

"No, I mean, can I go on missions and stuff now?"

"Yes, Agent Romanoff. In fact…" He opened a drawer and Natasha's eyes widened as he pushed a file onto the desk towards her.

Hurriedly, she opened the file, and her eyes immediately started zipping back and forth over the page.

"Am I invited?" Clint asked.

"You think I'm gonna let her go on her own?" Fury said.

"I'm right here." Natasha mumbled, still reading through the file.

"It's a simple mission. Stark Industries have developed an incredibly dangerous weapon, and they're transporting it to the military. They've hired some government agents to protect them during the transfer, but our spies have proven the government's been infiltrated. That's not something we want you to get involved in. _All_ we want you to do is to go undercover as the government agents who're going to oversee the transfer and deal with the real agents that show up. Then just make sure the weapon gets to the military safely." Fury told him.

Clint pulled the file out of Natasha's hands.

"Are you sure we want anyone to have this?" Clint asked, flicking through the file and looking at the important stuff. He didn't have Natasha's patience to read through all the boring crap; in his opinion, that was Fury's job. He went straight to the weapon they were supposed to be protecting, and it didn't sound very nice at all.

"Ideally, we'd like to take control of it, but that's not a possibility right now. Again, that's not something we want you to get involved in."

"There's a lot you don't want us to get involved in here, sir. Things really got fucked up around here with me gone for a month, didn't they?"

"Watch your mouth Barton." Fury said. "This can be your opportunity to prove to me that you can follow orders and _not get involved with things you're not supposed to._" Fury said sternly, with a pointed glance at Natasha.

"Right, So, we set off tomorrow?" Clint asked, hastily changing the subject.

"Yes. Which gives you a day for some training. Now, you can both get out of my office."

* * *

><p>"Excited?" Clint said, as he ducked out of the way of Natasha's fist.<p>

"A little." She smiled, grabbing Clint's arm as he threw a punch.

"And hey, I think we're getting better." He remarked, as she pinned his arm against his back. She flipped over and brought him crashing to the ground. "Like, more in sync. We'll be able to read each other's minds soon." She pinned him down, but he rolled over and reversed their positions.

"I don't think so. I'm leaving you as soon as I can." She smirked, kicking him off her and standing herself back up.

"Please, you can't stay away from me." he joked, catching her arm before it made contact with his face but failing to catch her other one that was aimed at his stomach.

"Hope I'm not interrupting anything." Coulson was standing in the doorway to the gym, his trading cards sticking out from his blazer pocket. Clint and Natasha took a step back from each other, both panting and sweating.

"Hey Coulson. What's up?" Clint said, grabbing Natasha's bottle of water.

"Fury wants you ready to depart at 2pm tomorrow, so I want you both there at 1." Coulson informed them.

"Why?" Natasha asked.

"Because it's your first mission, Agent Romanoff, and because Barton has never once shown up on time."

Natasha cast Clint a disdainful look. "Yes, sir." She gave Coulson a small smile, which he returned. Clint hadn't seen that one coming.

"Okay, I'll see you both tomorrow at 1. And Clint, if you're not wearing clothes this time, you're fired." Coulson turned on his heel and left the room.

"Do I even want to know?" Natasha asked.

"Probably not." Clint said, as Natasha aimed a punch at his face and they began sparring again.


	37. March 28th, 14:47

"Hawkeye, have you reached the checkpoint?" Coulson's voice said in Natasha's ear.

"Yes, sir." Clint said. Natasha could hear everything through her little earpiece they'd given her now she was an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. Clint didn't need to narrate everything that was happening to her anymore. She could just listen for herself. Not that she was excited about that, of course.

"Okay, Hawkeye, Black Widow, you're going to have to intercept the agents and take their transportation to Stark Industries." Coulson kept making a point of saying her code name and speaking to her as well as Clint, as if he was scared to leave her out. Usually, this would be annoying because she was the Black Widow and she didn't need people to baby her, but today nothing could faze her. She was going to prove that she could oversee a weapons transportation better than anyone in the whole world.

Before long, a black SUV appeared, driving down towards them. They'd chosen a lonely one way road surrounded by trees, so it was easy to park their rented car right across the road so no one could get past. The government agents got out of the SUV and walked up to them to ask them to move. Clint sat back and let Natasha deal with them quickly, because he said she needed to let off some steam. They hauled the bodies into the rented car and searched their pockets for ID cards and anything else that might help. S.H.I.E.L.D had already given them government uniforms, so they didn't have to strip the agents. They arranged them so that a passing police car might think they were simple taking a break from driving, before getting into the SUV and finishing their drive down to Stark Industries. When they arrived, someone showed them to the truck they were taking the weapon in.

"Okay, Tasha, you wait here, I'm going to go deal with Stark." Clint told her.

"Why can't I come?" She asked, but Clint had already gone.

"Trust me, leave it to him," Coulson's voice said in her ear. "We don't want Stark to notice you. It's best if he goes alone."

"Why?" Natasha said, moving her lips as little as possible.

"Stark has met Clint four times under different covers, and has never noticed him."

"Really? Why?"

"Because Clint's a guy." Coulson said matter-of-factly. "He'll notice you. So we don't really want him meeting you."

Clint soon came back looking disgruntled, and said to her, "I got in there, and he said, '_Where have I seen you before?' _and I was about to say that he hadn't, but then he went '_Did you ever do a porn movie?' _and then he started going on about nurses and a patient, so I just left."

"So when you told me you joined the circus…" She grinned sneakily.

"Shut up." He said, rolling his eyes. They got into the truck, and began to follow Coulson's directions to the drop off point.

"Enjoying working for the good guys, Agent Romanoff?" Coulson's voice asked. Just as Clint was here to keep an eye on Natasha, Coulson had to stay on the line to keep a closer eye on Clint.

"Sure." Natasha said. It wasn't exactly taxing work, but it was work all the same.

"Seriously? This is the type of mission they give to the new agents." Clint said distastefully.

"I am a new agent." Natasha pointed out.

"I'm not." Clint said. "I'm here to babysit. The things I do for you."

"Whatever." She said, rolling her eyes, for the millionth time in the last month.


	38. April 24th, 17:42

Natasha was in the gym where she spent most of her days at S.H.I.E.L.D now, apart from the missions Fury kept giving her, which anyone could have done. She was all for gaining Fury's trust, but she was the Black Widow, and she was being sent to clean up bodies. Clint was on her side – they'd both gone to Coulson, begging for something more challenging, but he would just say that there couldn't be a threat to the world _every day._ To which Natasha would reply, 'there would be if you looked hard enough.' Then Coulson would say, 'we're looking as hard as we can.' Then Clint would say, 'Look harder. We need some death and destruction.' and Coulson would order them both to book appointments with the shrink.

In the meantime, Clint had been trying to get Natasha accustomed to life in America. Which was not easy, they were talking about a country that sold cheese in a can. Coulson had been helping too, and Natasha tried to avoid him as much as possible, because bumping into him in the corridor meant a history lesson filled with Captain America and patriotism and righteousness and all that.

Someone opened the door to the gym, and Natasha wasn't surprised to see Clint. The gym had become her territory after she'd scared away some agents that had come in there, and she didn't get many visitors.

"Guess what today is." Clint said, grinning.

"Do I have to?" She asked tiredly.

"It's your birthday." He said. "According to your new passport."

"Oh. Excellent." She said drily.

"I suggested to Coulson that we get you a cake, but he said you'd probably kill us."

"He's smarter than he lets on." Natasha said, attacking her punching bag again.

"But, I did find this." He climbed onto a nearby cross trainer, leant on the handles and pulled a lighter out of his pocket. "You can blow _something_ out."

"Clint, put that away before you hurt yourself." She sighed.

"I'm not a child, Natasha." He said, flicking the fire on and off. "You know there's a kid at Xavier's who can control fire."

"I'm guessing you're not related." She said exasperatedly, as Clint's sleeve caught fire.

"Quick, make a wish and blow it out, Tasha." He said, jumping off the cross trainer and hurrying over to her, his arm alight.

"Clint, you're on fire!" She said bemusedly.

"Thanks, you too." he winked "Quick, you've only got about ten seconds before the fire alarm goes off."

"Idiot." She rolled her eyes and began hitting his arm to put out the fire. The door to the gym opened again.

"Barton, what have I told you about playing with fire?" Coulson demanded exasperatedly.

"Just putting it out, sir." Clint called over cheerfully. Under his breath, he muttered to Natasha, "This isn't over, Romanoff."

Coulson rolled his eyes and turned to address Natasha, "Director Fury has a mission for you both. High level." Coulson informed them.

"_That's_ a birthday present." Natasha whispered back to Clint.

"What is it?" Clint asked.

"It's a serious threat that needs to be contained, and we need our best agents on it. If you're in I need to take you now for briefing."

Natasha and Clint nodded and followed Coulson out of the room, Natasha slapping Clint's arm once more for good measure.


	39. Day 1, '007'

Clint was messing around with his bow, sat on Natasha's bed. Fury had given them a mission that required Natasha to be undercover, and Clint to be sat high up shooting some long distance targets. Which was perfect for them both, really.

"Ready?"

Natasha had emerged from the bathroom, wearing her makeup and a dress that Clint appreciated very much. Reminding himself that Natasha was the last person you wanted to be caught staring at, he forced his eyes up and replied, "Yeah, just making some adjustments." He looked down at his bow. It'd been a little off since that idiot from the tech department had started trying to add Hammer tech onto it. Naturally, Clint had chased the guy onto the roof and locked the trap door behind him. Coulson had got mad at him, but hey, it was _his_ bow.

"Okay, one more time." She said.

"Tasha, we've been over this a million and one times-" Clint began tiredly.

"I am not fucking this up Clint, if Fury tries to make me go undercover as a cleaner again just to keep me busy, I will snap a neck. And you're the only person who comes near me, so it will be yours." She said threateningly.

"I think you suited the maid's outfit." He joked.

"Clint, one more time." She said exasperatedly.

"You go into the casino, I go onto the roof, you find the guy and get him outside using all your seduction-y techniques, I shoot him with a tranq dart, we take him back to base and I let you question him." Clint recited monotonously.

"And what do you not shoot him with?" Natasha asked patronisingly.

"I am a world class agent, Romanoff, you don't have to treat me like a child." He said defiantly.

"Clint."

"I don't shoot him with the new exploding arrows Fury got me. I _know._ Can we go now?"

Coulson was in the driver's seat, taking to them to a casino in Atlantic City, in which a man who had killed five important S.H.I.E.L.D agents would appear, if their sources were correct. They'd gotten there a little early, so even after Coulson had checked all the communication lines were working correctly, they had a lot of time. They left Coulson in the car with the security camera feed from the casino playing on his computer, and then separated. Clint found a nearby building with an elevator in so he could get onto the roof without too much effort. Once up there, he switched buildings, because he didn't have a very clear view of the alley Natasha would be luring the target into. After some climbing and jumping and some pretty hard-core parkour, he found a vantage point he liked. He liked to think of himself as Spiderman, something Natasha found ridiculous, for some reason.

He still had a long wait before the target even showed up, so he hid his bow on the roof and made his way down to the casino Natasha was waiting in. There were men and women everywhere dressed most exotically, and the repeated noise of die being thrown; slot machines and coins pouring out for the lucky few winners filled the room. He found Natasha sat at a table, watching a guy on stage hypnotise people. He sat down next to her.

"Bored already?" She asked.

"Just a tad." He grinned.

"He shouldn't be here for a while yet." She said.

"So this is how you're spending your time?" He asked, eyeing the hypnotist on stage with distaste.

"Well, I _could_ go and waste all my money on gambling instead…"

"Better than this bullshit." He said.

"You don't believe in that stuff? Huh. I'd have thought you'd love stuff like that." She said, a little surprised.

"What, you do?" He asked, a lot more surprised. "Seriously, _you_ believe in stuff like magic?"

"I don't _believe_ in it, I just don't think there's any point messing with stuff you don't understand." She said slowly.

"Well, aren't you just full of surprises, Romanoff?" He asked, his eyebrows raised.

"But I definitely thought this was your type of thing." She said.

"Well, hate to disagree, Tasha, but I think it's a load of crap." He said. "I don't think _that_," he gestured to the stage, "Is real. Mind control and all that, it can't be possible. No one could be inside my head, telling me what to do. It's physics." He said firmly.

"Because physics is your strong point." She said sarcastically.

"Exactly." He grinned.

Having retired back to the roof, he was leaning over the edge slightly, watching the door Natasha would be coming out of like a – well, like a hawk. Coulson kept checking in on him, but neither of them knew what was going on with Natasha, it was best if she just contacted them when she could. After a stretch of radio silence, he heard her voice on the line saying, "Hawkeye, the target's just getting his coat, we're on our way out. Don't shoot until I give you a signal, I'm getting a bit out of him that we might not be able to get when he knows what's happening." Clint could understand that. People tended to be chattier with a couple of drinks in them and a pretty woman next to them than when they were handcuffed to a chair and being questioned by agents with guns. He watched as they exited the club, the guys arm around Natasha's waist. He was on the small side and had jet black hair. His pockets were weighed down, probably with winnings from the casino, and every couple of steps he wobbled a little. Clint watched his hand moving down a little south of Natasha's waist, and resisted the urge to shoot him without the signal.

"Sir, Black Widow has the target on the alley; I'm holding fire for just a moment." Clint muttered to his earpiece.

"Okay. Report back when he's been taken out."

Clint watched as Natasha's leg brushed against the man's, and her dress rose ever so slightly, just revealing the gun that was holstered to her thigh. Quick as lightning, the man jumped back from her and drew his own gun from his pocket. Natasha immediately managed to disarm him, and the two began fighting. Clint's arrow was nocked, ready to fire at the right moment.

Clint didn't know anyone that could last long in a fight with Natasha. But this guy hadn't killed five S.H.I.E.L.D agents for nothing, and he was holding his ground. He even got a couple of good punches in. Deciding that Natasha could use the help, Clint aimed, and let his arrow fly.


	40. Day 2, '007'

Natasha, not for the first time, was pissed off. Clint Barton was an idiot. It wasn't the first time she'd thought that, either. And now she had to go and listen to Maria Hill lecture her about all the ways she was _not_ allowed to interrogate people at S.H.I.E.L.D, which was bound to worsen her mood.

Clint _never_ missed. Ever. Even moving targets. But the man from last night was incredibly drunk, and his movements were erratic, which was the only reason Natasha was struggling to overcome him. But still, she'd told Clint to wait for a signal before shooting. Obviously, that was too much for his tiny brain to handle, and he'd gone and shot him anyway, consequently blinding the man in one eye.

Fantastic. The guy was bound to give them tons of information now they'd taken away half of his ability to see.

"Hey, Nat." Clint appeared by her side, smiling cheerfully. _Ugh._ He didn't even realise he'd done anything wrong. Of course, she hadn't actually told him she was pissed off, but boy had she been sending out some angry thoughts. Instead of telling him, she continued to walk silently to the holding cells where the man had been taken after they'd operated on his eye.

"What's up?" He said, bounding alongside her to keep up. She hated how he was like a freaking cocker spaniel. "Tasha?"

"Nothing." She sighed exasperatedly, just as they reached the door to the holding cell. She reached for the handle, but Clint caught her hand and pulled her back towards him.

"Seriously, what's wrong?" he asked, his eyes searching hers. She resisted the urge to roll them.

Well, it wasn't like he was going to work it out on his own, anyway. "I told you to wait for a signal."

"I thought the guy attacking you was enough." He said confusedly.

"Well, it wasn't. You ended up blinding him." She said angrily.

"Since when did you care about strangers?" he asked.

She didn't, really. She couldn't give a fuck about whether the guy could see. In fact, she wasn't even sure which eye had been hit. But she was determined to be mad right now. "How would you like it if I shot you in the eye with a tranquiliser gun unnecessarily, Clint? You'd never be able to shoot again."

"Nat, come on." He said, the corners of his mouth twitching. "What's with the sudden compassion?"

"Look, we agreed you wouldn't shoot without a signal." Natasha said.

"What's the big deal?"

"I don't need you to help me all the time!" She burst out.

"The guy was attacking you!"

"And I was attacking him back, I was doing just fine!"

"You didn't look like it."

"You know, I survived a good few years in the KGB without you there to save me Clint."

"So that's why you're mad. You think I think I saved you." He said slowly.

"What?" she asked bewilderedly.

"Look, Tasha, if someone's trying to hurt you, the natural thing for me to do is to try and help, not because I think you can't handle it by yourself, but because it's the decent thing to do." He reasoned.

"I don't need you to try and help Clint; I can handle people on my own." She said defiantly.

"But you don't have to." he said.

Agent Hill poked her head out of the door. "Good, you're here. Are you coming in?"

Clint still had her hand and he tightened his grip to signal that he wanted to stay out there and talk more, but Natasha just glared at him and jerked out of his grip. She was so not done being mad.

Hill told her all about the interrogation procedures at S.H.I.E.L.D, and honestly, they were a bit more lax than Natasha expected them to be. The organisation definitely wasn't as innocent as Clint made out.

The man was in the cell, both of his eyes closed. Natasha already knew him from last night. The man was quite small, with jet black hair. He spoke with an Irish accent and said his name was Charlie. Natasha didn't believe this, she'd told him her name was Emily.

"Who's there?" He demanded, when he heard them enter the room.

"You're not blind in both eyes." Clint said, annoyed.

"I don't like the feeling." Moaned the man, keeping both eyes scrunched up.

"It doesn't matter." Natasha muttered to Clint.

"It's you!" exclaimed the man. He opened his eyes – his working one darted to Natasha, whom it recognised instantly, but the one that was shot remained still, clouded and unseeing.

"How long have you been in America?" Natasha asked, but the man was clearly distracted.

"You were lying, all last night!"

"Get over it, man." Clint muttered.

"You! He's got a bow! He's the one that shot my eye, isn't he?" The man said, panicking.

"Answer the question or I'll take a shot at the other." Clint growled.

"Can't you just wait outside? You're not helping!" Natasha sighed.

"So? I thought you didn't need my help." Clint said moodily.

"Don't start this now." she muttered.

"What's the point of having a partner if you don't have each other's back?" Clint asked bemusedly.

"I told you to wait for a signal!" She said.

"You looked a bit too preoccupied to give a signal!"

She took a calming breath. "Look, I have a way of doing things, okay? And I've done things that way for a long time. If I want stuff out of people, sometimes I let them think they're winning. And that might mean letting them hurt me."

"We weren't in that situation; you'd gotten as much out of him as you could!" Clint argued.

"But if we were, you wouldn't have known; which is why I'm telling you now! From now on, if I say wait for a signal, _wait for a signal_!"

"So I'm just supposed to sit and watch you get hurt?" he demanded.

"Yes, if that's what I need you to do!"

"I never had to deal with this shit when I worked alone." He stated, running his hand through his hair to the back of his neck.

"Then go." She spat

"You obviously don't need me." He said.

"Obviously not." She didn't know why she was being so stubborn. It was a stupid fight.

"I… This can be our last mission, I can't deal with you." He said tiredly.

"Fine." She said.

"Fine." He turned on his heel and she watched the door slam behind him.

"Who the hell are you people?" Demanded the man, looking petrified. "Where the fuck am I?"

"You're in a holding cell." She said distractedly. Bringing herself back to the situation, she ran through everything the man had said in her mind, analysing it, the way he sat, the way he spoke, everything. She decided on an approach. "We're missing a few agents, thanks to you."

"What? I don't know what you're talking about! I just wanted to go to the casino!"

"A lot of their friends are pissed." She said quietly.

"I didn't do anything, I swear!"

"They want to get their own back on the person that caused this."

"I didn't cause it, please!"

"Then who did?" Natasha asked. The man stopped begging.

"I'm not supposed to say." He said, a little calmer. At least he'd dropped the act.

"Fine. Maybe I'll send in one of the agents a little closer to the situation." Her hand was on the door handle.

"Wait." He said. She turned around. "It was just a job. They offered me a lot of money."

"How much?" Natasha knew that if she asked him who or why then he'd go straight back into silence.

"A lot. I thought it was a lot, because it wasn't an assassination job at first. Just surveillance."

"When was this?"

"Couple of weeks ago."

"But it wasn't a surveillance."

"It was at first. They just had me tailing a few of them, finding out what they knew. When I found that they knew too much, they gave me the order to get rid of them."

"Knew too much about what?"

"I'm not supposed to say." He said.

"But you were just following orders." Natasha said slowly, as if trying to comprehend it. "You didn't want to kill them."

"'Course not. I don't like killing anyone. But I didn't want to argue, not if they were going to blow me up too."

"Who are they going to blow up?"

"Crap." The man said.

"Who are they going to blow up?"

He frantically closed his eyes again, angry at himself. "If I tell you anything else, I want protection." He demanded.

"That's not my decision. Like I said, people are pissed."

"Not from protection against you." He said. "Protection against them."

S.H.I.E.L.D could do that sort of thing, right? "Fine." She said. "Tell me."


	41. Day 3, '007'

Clint was done. He wanted out. He just couldn't deal with her anymore.

Except he wasn't done. He didn't want out. He wanted to deal with her more. Somehow, the sarcastic, cynical bitch had worked her way inside him rooted there. And as much as he wanted to not ever talk to her again, he wanted to go and apologise right now so he could talk to her again.

Coulson had briefed him on everything Natasha had gotten out of the Irish guy. They were to board a quinjet as soon as possible, which was why Clint was up at 1 o clock in the morning, dreading the next few hours. Predominantly because Natasha had barely just learnt to fly the quinjet, and was determined to prove she could do it. There was a 50/50 chance he was going to die today.

Natasha was already sat in the quinjet, strapped in and ready to go. He climbed in and sat next to her, watching her tentatively. She obviously wasn't going to make the first move.

"I'm not sorry." He said blankly.

She glared at him. "Good to know." She snapped.

"I'm not sorry, and I know you're not sorry either." He said calmly. "But I don't want this to be our last mission."

She eyed him coldly. "You changed your mind quickly."

"I was just mad." He said. "You're a lot to take."

"Is this your first apology?" She said bemusedly.

"Not apologising." He said firmly. "But I know you don't want this to be our last mission, either." Instead of answering, she just stared intently out the window of the quinjet. "I might not get your problem with this whole thing-"

"I've never had to work with someone else before." She interrupted. "In the KGB you didn't work with the other girls, you were pitted against them. We never helped each other. So when you do help me, it feels like an insult. Like I can't handle it by myself."

"You know I don't think that."

"And like I said yesterday, I have my own methods. You don't know them. How are you supposed to know what I'm doing without ruining everything?" She asked, struggling to articulate her thoughts.

"I don't try to ruin everything for you on purpose, you know." He said, rolling his eyes. "But I'll learn, okay? You don't necessarily need to get all moody and silent every time I fuck up, but…"

She smiled, and he began to laugh. "Fine." She said. "You've just got to leave me be. I will ask for help if I really need it, you know." He raised his eyebrow doubtfully. "Promise. You ready?" She started to turn the quinjet engine on. Clint barely had time to check to comms were working and do his traditional good luck salute to Coulson who was steadily shrinking, before he had to cling on for dear life as Natasha took off.


	42. Day 4, '007'

"Dun dun, dun daaan…"

"Would you please shut up?" Natasha said.

"Okay, you don't have to try and kill me!" he exclaimed. She'd almost lost her footing on a slippery piece of rock that she couldn't see. They were climbing down a small hole with practically no light, and the rocks they were using to get down were smooth and slippery.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to!" she shouted back up. She was holding onto Clint's ankle for dear life, because the flashlight that was attached to her helmet she'd been forced to wear had broken a while back when a rock had fallen on it. It'd been an _I told you so_ moment for the rock guy that made her wear the helmet, and ever since then, she'd been sharing the light emitting from Clint's head. She'd been clutching his hand like a lifeline the whole time, but the hole they were climbing down was too narrow. So his ankle was her only option.

"Sure." He called down drily.

"I mean it, I almost fell!" she said back.

"You can let go of him, you're almost there." Said the rock man in a bored voice. God, she fucking hated him. It was taking all her will power not to shoot him. But that would be a bad idea. It might ricochet and hit her or Clint.

"If I'm so close, then why does your voice seem so far away?" She shouted down to the rock man.

"Maybe because I'm talking quietly, Agent Romanoff. We're rather close to a terrorist base, you know."

Maybe if she could find a rock sharp enough, it might decapitate him.

"Natasha, calm down. I'm losing the circulation to my foot." Clint said quietly. He took another step down, giving Natasha enough reach to the next foothold, which happened to be the floor.

"I told you." The rock man said smugly in his grating voice.

"Listen, I-"

"Now, now, let's not fight." Clint said, landing behind them. It was easy for him, he was great at climbing. He did it all the time. And he could see right now. Lucky bastard. She grabbed his hand again.

The rock man rolled his eyes, before turning and carrying on walking, leaving them with just the little stretch of light from Clint's helmet. They were in a tunnel now, and the rocks on the floor in front of them looked jagged and uneven. Fantastic.

"Come on, we don't want him complaining at us anymore than he has to." Clint said, nodding towards the rock man.

"I hate him, Clint."

"Yeah, I guessed." He said, laughing.

"Would you stop moving your head, please? I can't see when you do."

"Aren't you in a good mood?" He asked sarcastically. "We're on a real mission here; I'd have thought you'd be happy."

She didn't even bother to reply. Hadn't she just spent two days arguing with Clint on the basis that she didn't like people helping her? And now was completely dependent on him. She literally couldn't see without him. And Rock Man was with them. And they were in deep underground tunnels, and it was wet and it smelled. And Clint wouldn't stop humming that damned theme tune.

"Would you please stop it?" she whispered again, exasperatedly.

"Tasha, you know where we are, right?"

"James Bond was based in London, not here." She said.

"But we're in the general vicinity." He argued in a hushed tone. No need for Rock Man to hear and start with his own input.

Rock Man was just ahead of them, bent over a small opening of rocks with some scientific equipment that was making noise. His papers were spilling out of his bag that he was trying to search through.

Although she didn't like it, they needed Rock Man with them. Navigating their way through a labyrinth of derelict tunnels wasn't too easy, so S.H.I.E.L.D had appointed them an expert on archaeology. She didn't know his name, because whenever he started talking his voice was replaced with an urgent need to slit his throat.

"Hey, Nat." Clint said. "Remind me again why they'd be down here."

"Because this is where Fury said they'd be." Unfortunately, she didn't know everything, and Fury didn't trust her enough to tell her that much. She didn't know why the terrorists would be hiding here of all places, not when one of their bombs was planted in London. All that Natasha knew was Fury had sent them here and cleared out the tourists.

"But why?" Clint pressed on. "It's not like anyone will search anywhere near here, they didn't have to hide down these tunnels. They could have just rented a hotel. What's the point?"

"Maybe they just wanted to stay well hidden until they've detonated it. I don't know." Natasha said.

"The man who built this place was subscribed to a religious cult, which believed that the world would be destroyed soon and that the tunnels were built as a refuge within which followers could escape the fire and brimstone." Called the Rock Man. "Personally, I think the terrorists are more followers of the cult. It's rather symbolic if you think about it. When they detonate the bomb, this'll be where they hide."

Natasha took a deep breath. Clint couldn't help but grin.

"Still," Clint carried on, sniggering, "Shouldn't we be wherever the bomb is?"

"Wouldn't you prefer to take them on here, rather than going for the bomb, which they could detonate as soon as they realise you're there? I prefer our chances here." Rock Man said patronisingly.

_Our chances._ Like that guy was going to help them at all. He was just here to show them the way.

Rock Man carried on down the tunnel.

"Can I ask you something?" Clint asked her.

"Sure."

"You remember yesterday?"

"Vaguely." She said drily.

"You know you said you were pitted against the other girls when you were in the KGB? Did you mean in like a Hunger Games type of deal?" he asked tentatively.

"I guess." She said, not meaning for it to come out so coldly. Clint looked away, because her tone made him feel uncomfortable. That meant Natasha couldn't see where she was going anymore, so she continued, "When they took us, they put us all together. They… trained us, and then started sending us out. If you did a mission wrong, then you either died on the job, or they killed you when you got back. Last one standing earns the title_._ That was the Black Widow programme." She spoke in a whisper, because telling Clint was one thing, Rock Man was another.

"Jesus." Clint said. "But you were the last one standing."

"Yep. I _won_." She said bitterly.

Rock Man halted. He put his device in his bag and pressed his ear up to a wall. _Through here, _he mouthed. Clint nodded. Rock Man made some measurements and placed something in in front of the wall, and removed his helmet then handed it to Natasha, because she needed to see more than he did now. At least he was good for something.

Rock Man mouthed a countdown, before pressing his detonator and blowing a hole in the wall. Bits of rock flew everywhere and the air filled with dust. He'd made sure the explosion wouldn't compromise the structure too much, but Natasha wasn't reassured when part of the ceiling started crumbling and fell on her head.

Clint and Natasha drew their guns and stepped through the newly constructed arch. There were five men in there, gathered around a table and looking up towards the two assassins. Natasha took out two of them with a single shot each, and Clint sent an arrow through one's head before the other two dived under their table, which didn't help them much, because Clint and Natasha quickly dragged them both out. They were quite pathetic, really. Clint's guy made an attempt to escape by flailing his legs around a bit, but Clint simply slammed against the wall and his body went limp. He put an arrow in his head for good measure. Natasha pinned her guy up against the wall and said, "How many of you are there?"

The man's face started to go slightly red, as Natasha made sure to block his windpipe a little. "So many." He laughed manically, hardly able to breathe. He had an accent, but Natasha couldn't quite tell what it was as he was choking his words out. "Everywhere."

Well, she knew that. The agents that'd been killed must've stumbled across them. Clearly, these men weren't in charge, they were just the men that'd been sent down here to detonate a bomb; dispensable. "Who are you working for?" she demanded.

The man just laughed again, struggling for breath.

"I want names and locations." She said forcefully.

"I'll never tell you anything." He choked.

"I wouldn't be sure of that."

He chuckled a bit more, before forcing himself to swallow. Natasha realised a moment too late what he'd done. He had a cyanide pill.

"Hail-" he coughed, but he never finished his sentence.

"What did he say?" Clint asked.

"Hail, I think."

"Hail who?"

"Dunno, maybe Rock Man was right about the cult thing." Natasha shrugged. She began searching through the pockets of the dead, hoping to find something about who they were.

"Nat, I don't think the infrastructure's too secure." Said Clint uneasily, looking up at the ceiling that was crumbling before his eyes.

"One sec." Natasha said. She found a phone in one of their pockets. That'd have to do. "Okay, let's go."

They climbed back through the arch, and found Rock Man huddled in a corner. "We really have to get out of here, the walls aren't holding!" he said in alarm.

"Lead the way then." Clint said impatiently.

"I need my flashlight and helmet back!" He cried. Natasha rolled her eyes and threw it to him, losing her sight again. As soon as he had it back, he started running back through the tunnel and climbing up through the gap in the rock. Natasha followed Clint, and once he'd climbed through the gap, he shone the light back down so she could make her way up. After she'd pulled herself through, he carried on running. Natasha went to follow, but her foot got caught in the hole as she yanked it through. Clint heard her gasp in pain and fell back to help her up. Natasha stood up but found she couldn't keep up with him, in fact, her ankle started to give way after a few steps.

"Clint," she called out, "I need your help." He stopped again. "I can't walk on this foot; I think I've sprained it or something."

He looked like he was ready to mock her about asking for help, and she was ready to punch him if he did, but he just helped her up again and supported her as they followed Rock Man out.


	43. April 29th, 7:18

Natasha and Clint were in their debriefing. They'd told Fury everything the men had said and given him the phone Natasha had found.

"I don't think the threat has been contained, sir." Natasha told him.

"I agree with you, Romanoff, but we've not got any leads right now. I think we've got another mission coming up for you both, so take a few days off to train." Fury ordered.

"Yes, sir." Said Natasha and Clint in unison. As he stood up, Clint automatically turned to help Natasha up, as she still couldn't walk.

"And take her to the medical bay, Barton." Fury added.

Clint supported her out of the door and down the corridor. "Please don't make me go to the med bay." Natasha said.

"But you're injured." Clint said.

"I hate that place. There's always people sticking stuff in me and putting me under anesthesia." She moaned.

He grinned. "Yeah, I know the feeling. Come with me, then." He took her back to his room at the S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters because hers was another floor up, and told her to wait there. She sat down on his bed and massaged her ankle.

When he got back, he had a bowl of ice, bandages, and some bottles of stuff. He sat across from her on the bed. "Put your foot in that." He told her, resting the bowl next to him. "Look what I got for you." He said excitedly, and held up a bottle of medicine made for babies teething.

"This is for under five year olds." Natasha said blankly, reading the label.

"Yeah, but it tastes awesome. They only let you have it when you're ill, though."

"I wonder why?" she said mockingly. "Thanks." She laughed.

After she'd taken the medicine, he picked up a tube of muscle relaxing cream.

"I can do it." she said, leaning forwards.

"I'm sure you can, but it'll be easier if I do it." he said calmly, applying the cream to her ankle. He had a surprisingly soft touch for someone whose hands were so calloused.

"Do you know what mission Fury's sending us on?" she asked.

"No, from what Coulson's said I think it'll be overseas." He said, bandaging her ankle. "Here." He handed her the remote for a small TV in the corner of the room. "You need to rest it for a bit. And just this once, because you're injured, I'll let you choose what we watch."

"Well, aren't you a gentleman?" she said sarcastically, and started to flick through the channels.


	44. Day 1, Bogota

"Bogota?"

"Yes. We've had a couple of agents stationed there for a while, because of a terrorist group that's stationed in the slums. Recently, they were taken hostage. We have reason to believe they're still alive, which is why Agent Coulson will be accompanying you both." Fury said.

Clint and Natasha both looked at Coulson. He was sat beside them, all three of them sat across from Fury who was briefing them on the mission. Clint had been wondering why he was there.

"Why?" Natasha asked.

"Agent Coulson is authorised to communicate with the group whilst representing S.H.I.E.L.D, you two are not."

"So what you really want us to do is be Coulson's body guards whilst he offers a bunch of terrorists some money." Natasha said, raising her eyebrows.

"In exchange for our agent's lives." Coulson chimed in.

"No. I want you to try your best to find the agents without negotiating with the terrorists, and if it comes to it, as the best agents at S.H.I.E.L.D I expect you to be able to carry out a fake trade with them."

"Yes, sir." Clint said.

"I want all three of you ready to leave in two hours." Fury ordered.

* * *

><p>"Go easy on that ankle; you should really be resting it a bit longer." Clint advised her.<p>

"Are you telling me to stay behind?" Natasha said in a challenging tone.

"Wouldn't dream of it." Clint said, grinning.

"Ready?" Coulson asked, appearing beside them. They were in the quinjet hangar, waiting for orders.

"Seriously? You're still gonna wear your suit? Even for this?" Clint asked disbelievingly, looking down at Coulson's immaculate uniform. "You know we're going to the slums, right?"

"I am well aware, Clint." Coulson said tiredly.

"I don't think I've ever seen you out of that thing. You do have a couple, don't you? I mean, you haven't just been wearing it since I met you?"

"Are we going to be professionals for this mission, Barton?" Coulson said.

"Are we going to stop talking to Clint like he's a two year old for this mission, Coulson?" Clint asked.

"Only if you're a good boy. Come on, we've got to go now."

* * *

><p>Natasha remained silent for the majority of the plane journey. Clint and Coulson seemed to have their own little romance going on (oh, the time they spent reminiscing) and she didn't feel like intruding, so it was awkward for her to sit there with Clint not trying to involve her like usual.<p>

"Woah." Clint was looking out of the window at the city below them. "Always looks much cooler from the sky, doesn't it?"

It did look beautiful – millions of lights twinkling in the night. Due to the time difference, it was early in the morning in Bogota. Natasha found it hard to appreciate it, though. She tried not to show it, but she hated being so high up, it made her feel sick. The more she got used to flying, the less she liked it. She had a feeling Clint knew, but she didn't want Coulson knowing about any of her weaknesses. "I suppose."

"Well, that's not where we're going." Coulson said grimly. "We're going to the slums."

When they landed, it was certainly not the same as in the sky. Their quinjet looked so out of place, landed in a dry field just beyond some crowded basic housing. If they were hoping to be inconspicuous, they had failed miserably.

Together, the three of them navigated their way through the slums. They stuck out like sore thumbs in their S.H.I.E.L.D uniforms. It was very quiet because it was so early in the morning, but there were still a lot of people awake in the streets. Everywhere Natasha looked, there was hunger and illness, so she tried not to look and instead focus on the mission. The terrorists used mainly guerrilla tactics, so she had to be constantly on her guard. Coulson was leading them somewhere. _Where_, she wasn't sure. She and Clint just trailed a little further behind him, following obediently.

"Clint?" Natasha asked quietly, hoping Coulson didn't hear her.

"Yeah?"

"Where are we going?" she asked, nonplussed.

"No idea. You'd think we should know, with it being our mission." He said.

They walked in silence for a little longer until Clint said under his breath, "Tasha, there's someone following us. Cover me; I need to let Coulson know."

She nodded, but Clint had barely taken a step forward before three people appeared behind them. Natasha's first instincts made her push Clint towards Coulson. The attackers were holding knives, and to be honest, she didn't quite see close combat as being Clint's forte. Natasha managed to take down one of the attackers, but when another came at her and knocked her back, instead of jumping back up like usual, she fell further back on that damn ankle. She tried to stand up, but when she put her weight on that leg, it shook violently before collapsing again.

Casting a quick glance behind her, she saw Clint wasn't doing much better. He seemed to be trying to protect Coulson and Natasha at the same time, whilst also trying to defend himself. Coulson had his gun out, but he was apparently out of ammo, and was struggling to refill while the attackers were right on top of him. Clint sent an arrow flying past Natasha's head; it found its mark in the hand of a man that was attempting to stab her. She snapped her head back to deal with her assailants. That's what you get for not paying attention. In the time that Clint had taken to help Natasha, though, the attackers had overcome Coulson and were dragging him away. She heard Clint call Coulson's name before the remaining attackers converged on her, and judging by his shouts, they'd done the same with Clint. She kicked and hit as much as she could, but there were too many of them.

They dragged her back away to the edge of the slums where they forced her onto the ground. They were on the edge of a forest. Another man appeared with a long rope. They roughly grabbed her hands and tied her to a tree as tightly as they could, before spitting something at her in what sounded like Spanish. She spoke Spanish, but they had thick accents and a different dialect than she was used to. After they decided she was tied to the tree securely, they dispersed a little. A few stayed close to keep a watch on her but the others started to spread out through the slums. Natasha didn't know what they were doing, but it was causing a lot of panic as people came running out of their houses, and some started to drop like puppets.

"Natasha?" That was Clint's voice, right? Yes, she was sure of that.

"Clint? Where are you?" she shouted.

"Where are you?" he shouted back.

They were shouting because the previously quiet slums had erupted with noise, mostly screaming and crying and gunshots. Trying to block it out, she shouted back. "I'm tied to a tree."

The rope tied around her wrists tightened, and she let out a gasp of pain as it dug into her skin. "This tree?" he shouted back.

"Stop pulling!" she ordered. Trying not to mutilate her arm too much, she wriggled it around to try and get it around the tree. Apparently, Clint was doing the same, because their fingers soon met.

"They took my bow." He told her.

"And my guns." She replied, looking down at her empty holster.

"Can you untie the rope?" he shouted. She tried – she could move her hands a little, but not enough to untie herself.

"Nope." She looked around; searching for something she could use to get herself out of this. "Is Coulson there?"

"They took him in the opposite direction to us." Clint shouted.

"Why'd they leave us here?" Natasha asked.

"Maybe because he looked more official. Worth taking hostage." Clint suggested.

Natasha leaned her head back against the tree. What the fuck did she do now? She searched through her brain for some kind of solution.

She didn't have long to think, though. Extremely close to them, an enormous explosion went off. Natasha wasn't sure what happened. There was the loudest noise that she'd ever heard, that was quickly replaced by a loud ringing in her ears. It felt like a giant wind was pushing her backwards, further into the tree. Everything went eerily silent, and she watched the scene unfolding as if in slow motion – the housing going up in flames, the people running about, a mixture of men and women and children desperately searching for each other, but the place was so overcrowded that people were getting lost in the masses appearing now their homes were on fire. Some were injured, and some were lying still in the arms of others. The smoke from the flames that were still devouring the area was slowly choking her, as she inhaled and swallowed it. It worked its way into her lungs and she felt like she was suffocating, like a pillow had been pressed to her face so she couldn't inhale anything except for that thick, poisonous smoke that was making her throat scream. Embers from the burning houses and sharp fragments of the buildings were flying everywhere, landing on her and burning and scraping her skin. The people looked like they were shouting, but all Natasha could hear was the ringing, but that was slowly dying down, being replaced with the sound of the roaring flames, crackling and spitting, and the hysterical screams of the people that still were not getting out of the fire, and instead running around the flaming ruins looking for their families. She could hear Clint screaming her name, saying that he couldn't hear, and she tried to shout to him that it was alright, it would wear off soon, but she was distracted by the terrorists that were now running into the fire, and the loud sounds of machine guns being fired.

She couldn't think of what to do. She couldn't think period; it was too loud. All the screaming, the fire, the guns, and Clint, shouting himself hoarse about how he couldn't hear – lucky bastard. She tried to think of a way out, but nothing came to her. They were tied to a tree in the middle of a terrorist attack, with no weapons, no way to contact S.H.I.E.L.D, no way to even move, their supervisor had been taken hostage, the town had gone up in flames, and the terrorists were carrying out a massacre before their very eyes. Not to mention the fire that was still roaring, which would surely spread to the trees any second now. Could it get any worse?

"Natasha! Nat, I can't hear, I can't hear anything, Tasha!" Clint's voice sounded on the verge of tears, hoarse to the point of breaking completely. "Tasha, I can't hear! Are you there? I can't hear a single fucking thing." Surely he could hear something, even if it was just that ringing… "Nat, I think I've gone deaf, please say you're there, Tasha, I can't hear anything!"

Natasha tried to shout back to him before realising that it was useless. She forced her arm a little bit further under the rope so she could grab his hand. He held onto her tightly, and she squeezed his hand back, just to let him know she was still there, still alive, still with him.

**A/N: So I got the idea for this off some fan art, search 'Bogota clintasha' if you wanna see it. Please review, I love hearing from you. Thanks to everyone who's followed, favourited, reviewed, you're awesome.**


	45. 6:15, Day 1, Bogota

Clint couldn't stop shouting. Nothing that was happening was as scary as the fact that he couldn't hear a _single_ thing. No matter how much he yelled, screamed, shouted, not one fucking sound was registering with him.

He didn't want to sound selfish, and he knew that there were a lot of people dying around him. Coulson had been carried off (frankly, he didn't really care about that. Coulson was a big boy and could take care of himself.) There were people running and falling and burning. The fire was getting alarmingly close to them. He felt Natasha's hand closing around his. He gripped back as hard as he could.

Natasha was pulling on the rope with her other hand. He could tell, because it was digging into his skin. Clint tried inhaling as deeply as he could, in an attempt to try and pull the ropes a bit more, but he drew in so much of the smoke he ended up choking. His throat felt on fire and he started coughing his guts out.

A man that looked like he was in his thirties emerged from the wall of fire, tears streaming down his face. He mustn't have been too lucky getting people out. The weird thing was, he was looking directly at their tree and mouthing something to them. Maybe he was actually shouting, Clint couldn't tell anymore.

He hobbled over, and as he got closer, Clint realised he must be talking to Natasha. Hopefully, Natasha was getting him to get them out of here. He got a little closer, seemingly at war with himself. He kept glancing back towards the fire. Clint wanted to tell him that the soldiers had gone; Clint had watched them run into the fire. He didn't know why anyone would want to go in there, but maybe they were helping save the people. After all, they lived here too. The man was worried about them, though, and wouldn't come any closer to them.

He was definitely talking to Natasha. Slowly, she must've been convincing him, because he took a step closer and knelt down next to them. Fumbling fingers began to untie the knots, shaking almost as badly as Clint was. The rope loosened slightly, and Clint felt relieved, not having realised how much his circulation had been constricted.

Suddenly, the man fell forwards, face first into the tree. Clint didn't realise what had happened until he saw the bullet wound in the man's back, the blood stain slowly growing on his shirt. At first he felt sorry for the man, he'd just died trying to help them. But more than that, he was now scared. A whole load of truths washed over him. He hadn't heard the shot go off. Usually, he'd listen for the source of the shot and locate the shooter. Now, he didn't even realise somebody had fired. How would this affect his shooting? Assuming they ever got out of this, would he still be the most accurate sniper at S.H.I.E.L.D? He relied very heavily on all his senses.

He hardly noticed Natasha fiddling with the ropes now they were looser, until his hands were free and he could see her face again. Unsurprisingly, she looked quite calm. He wondered what she was getting from his expression right now. She started talking, and Clint stared at her mouth, trying to work out what she was saying, but she was going too fast. She seemed to realise that he couldn't hear her, and then bit her lip, probably completely at loss at what to do.

She was still holding his hand. She tried to pull him up, but his balance was completely off. He couldn't hear, for fuck's sake! He reckoned the only reason he hadn't passed out from the shock of it was because of all the adrenaline surging through his veins. Natasha drooped his arm over her shoulders, and supported him as she led him further away from the fire, into the forest they were on the edge of. He could see her mouth moving - she was shouting. Probably something along the lines of '_Hurry up or we're going to get caught in the middle of a fucking forest fire!'_

He chanced a glance back, and saw the giant wall of fire behind them, like a giant wave about to wash over them. The smoke felt like it was burning his eyes, and he could feel the embers flying at him and scolding his skin. He forced his feet to go quicker, trusting Natasha had some kind of direction to take them in.

They ended up on a small patch of rocky terrain. Natasha seemed to think it would do, because she relaxed slightly and turned to face him. He watched her, hoping that she knew some way to fix this all, but she just stared at him sadly, with no idea how to communicate with him.

Suddenly, now they'd stopped moving, it really hit him what it meant not to be able to hear. It was a little windy, but he couldn't hear the breeze. The sun was just beginning to rise, creeping over the view they had of the burning village in the distance, but he couldn't find any of the noises that came with a sunrise. He couldn't even hear his own breathing. It was like a giant invisible pillow had been pressed around his head, and nothing would come through it. What was left of his composure completely broke down, and he couldn't help throwing his arms around Natasha and hiding his face in her shoulder. Natasha hesitated for a second, before wrapping her arms around his neck. All Clint could think about was how even though she was so close to him, he couldn't hear her at all.


	46. 23:41, Day 1, Bogota

Natasha didn't like to admit it, but she had no fucking clue what to do.

She had no weapons. No way of communicating with anyone. And her partner was in a very bad mood. Plus, they couldn't leave without getting the agents and Coulson back, so travelling to the nearest airport was out of the question.

They were sat on some rocks Natasha had found that protected them from the fire. She was tracing out attack plans on the ground with her finger and mumbling to herself, trying to work out a strategy. Clint wasn't helping, because Natasha didn't like how she couldn't tell him why his ideas wouldn't work or shout at him for being ridiculous. Instead, he lay cross-legged on the floor, propped up on his elbows, making noises as if hoping he'd suddenly hear them. They were sitting by the light of a weak fire Natasha had managed to start.

In the end, Natasha decided that the best strategy she could think of would be to go back to the slums tomorrow and head in the general direction they took Phil in. Maybe if there were some soldiers still there she'd be able to take a weapon off one of them. She glared at the ground.

"You okay?" Clint asked. Even in the shape he was in, he still looked like he felt sorry for _her_, because she had to deal with him.

She nodded, unable to do anything else to communicate with him.

"Any ideas what we're going to do?"

She shook her head.

"We'll be fine. They took Phil. He's a really good agent; he'll be out of there in no time." He made a sad attempt at a grin.

She smiled back.

"You could always go. Get to a city and contact S.H.I.E.L.D." He suggested.

Thankful that she didn't have to explain why, she shook her head.

"You've changed." He smiled.

She stared at him. She had, hadn't she?

"You should go to sleep." He said.

She shook her head again.

"Go on. I'll keep watch." he said. She hesitated. "You know I've been in this business for quite a while now, I do know what I'm doing." He stated drily.

She shook her head again. Mouthing the words as clearly as possibly, she said, 'Too cold.'

He gave a cheeky grin and held out his arm.

Clint was right. It was a testament to just how much she'd changed since she'd met him that she moved over, lay down next to him with her head on his chest and his arm around her. Never in her life did think she'd ever have something close to a friend, let alone a human comforter. If this had happened two months ago, she would have ditched Clint and Coulson and found her own way back. Now, it wasn't even an option. Trying to conserve as much body heat as possible, she curled up into him and let her eyes slowly close.


	47. Day 2, Bogota

Natasha and Clint arrived at a tall fence lined with barbed wire on the outskirts of what used to be the slums. Now, it was rubble. Natasha's uniform was ripped and charred and blood stained, and Clint imagined he looked rather similar. She'd managed to take out a couple of soldiers whom she'd taken two guns off. Clint didn't think he had much ammo, but he decided not to complain.

He was following her blindly, and she seemed to be improvising, which wasn't much of a comfort. Luckily, they'd managed to find the terrorist base, but that was purely by chance. Even if Natasha did have a plan from here, she couldn't tell him, as they'd discovered he wasn't the best at lip reading.

Natasha told him to stay where he was in the way an owner would tell a dog to stay. Obediently, he sat down and started swirling his fingers round in the ash. She left, probably to check the perimeter, and Clint sat there feeling bitter. Why the fuck had this happened to him? Natasha hadn't damaged her hearing. Momentarily, his mind wandered to what might have happened if it had been the other way around… He was glad that hadn't happened. He didn't want her to be hurt. But if he was getting what he wanted, both of them would be okay.

Someone tapped his shoulder. He didn't even bother to react, he knew it was Natasha. Not a lot of terrorists tap you on the shoulder to alert you they're going to kill you. She was gesturing for him follow her. He did so automatically. They found the weakest point of security, an entrance through the fence guarded by only four soldiers, who lay unconscious on the floor once Natasha had dealt with them.

"Do you have a plan here?" Clint whispered.

She nodded distractedly.

"The type that'll work?" He asked.

She made a gesture with her hand that Clint took to mean '50/50'

Inside the fence there was a large, dull grey warehouse. Soldiers were pacing every inch of the perimeter. Clint doubted they'd get in, the place was surrounded and there were two of them with a questionable amount of ammo. He was about to ask Natasha to try and mime what they were about to do, but she just tucked her gun under her top and gestured to him to copy. Then, she grabbed his arm, and waited until as many of the soldiers as possible were looking away. Together, they ran towards the wall of the warehouse. Clint didn't have time to marvel at the fact that they'd actually made it; before Natasha turned them right back around and started running back towards the fence.

Two of the soldiers noticed them, and started shouting. Converging on them from all sides, the soldiers grabbed them and tore them apart from each other, holding back their hands. Clint couldn't hear whether he was screaming or not. Natasha had disappeared from his sight.


	48. 9:36, Day 2, Bogota

Guards converged on Natasha and Clint. Wishing she could tell Clint that this was the plan so he'd stop yelling, she put up a fake struggle but ultimately allowed the soldiers to pin her hands behind her back.

Her plan seemed to be working so far. Part one was to get caught, looking like they were running out of the building. Hopefully, the soldiers would think they were escaping rather than breaking in. Their success was confirmed as the guards hauled them back into the building, telling each other to take them back to the cells.

Part two was a long shot. She was hoping that because they looked like escapees, the soldiers wouldn't bother to check under their clothes for the pistols they'd concealed there. It wasn't foolproof - Natasha would have checked them. Thankfully though, the soldiers weren't the brightest and allowed them to go unchecked.

Next, Natasha would keep an eye on the way that the soldiers took them, so she knew their escape route. She assumed this would be fairly simple - they were taken down a straight, dirty grey metal corridor, then they turned right. From the outside, the building looked big enough for a terrorist compound, but not big enough to get lost in. But they were led down some stairs that must have taken them underground, which was a little more complicated. Natasha still thought she did a pretty good job of memorising the way.

Finally, they'd end up armed with both a gun and a route out, and be put wherever they were keeping the other hostages. They'd work out a plan from there. She hoped that's where she'd been taken, but it was too dark to tell.

"Nat, are you there? Nat!" Clint called uneasily.

"Clint, for gods sake, shut the fuck up!" She ordered, before remembering he couldn't hear her. Instead, she scrambled around the cold, stone floor, trying to find some body part of Clint's to hold onto.

"Natasha?" Asked another voice.

"Coulson?"

"Tasha!" Clint yelled.

"Clint?" Coulson asked.

"Is that you, Coulson?" Natasha demanded.

"Yeah, is that your hand on my knee?" Coulson said uncertainly.

"Damn, I thought you were Clint." Natasha remarked.

"It's not the best time for that type of thing, guys." Coulson reprimanded. She let her nails dig into his knee to let him know she didn't approve of the humour.

"Nat, are you there?" Clint's lost voice sounded out.

"Who's on my elbow?" Called out another voice.

"Agent Romanoff, who the hell is this?" Natasha said, trying to sound professional.

"I'm Agent Thomas. You're on my foot now."

"What body part are you trying to get a hold of, Romanoff?" Coulson inquired.

"Wait, did he say Romanoff?" Sounded out another voice.

"As in the Black Widow?"

"Crap."

"Get me out of here!"

"Nat, are you there?"

There was a mad scramble as all the agents started trying to back away from her, not knowing where she was in the first place.

"Stay fucking still!" Natasha commanded, still grabbing random limbs in an attempt to find Clint.

"Get her off my face!" An agent cried.

"Romanoff, Barton's a big boy, calm down." Coulson said.

"No, Coulson, the bomb deafened him, he doesn't have a clue what's happening or whether I'm here or not." Natasha explained. "So if everyone could shut the fuck up," she raised her voice, "and stay still."

It became silent.

"Tasha!" Clint yelled again.

She followed his voice until she found what she hoped was his body, located what she hoped was his hand and held on tight.

"Tasha, is that you?"

She squeezed his hand in response.

Natasha Romanoff, as the Black Widow, wasn't one for sympathy, but she couldn't help feeling for Clint right now. Being deaf was one thing, but now he couldn't see either. Two of his senses were gone, and eliminating taste and smell which weren't going to do him much good in this situation, he was left purely relying on the sense of touch. She wanted to tell him Coulson was here, safe, because she knew it would make him feel better, but she didn't know how to.

"Okay." Natasha sighed, trying to get a grip on the situation. "First thing's first, we need to find some light."


	49. Day 3, Bogota

It had started a couple of hours ago. At least, if felt like a couple of hours, but it was hard to tell, being stuck in the dark, unable to see or hear anything. An intense ringing began in Clint's head, beginning to drive him insane. It became increasingly loud, to the point Clint was ready to scream because of the pain, merely to ease off again. Only once it'd gone, it'd been replaced by noise.

Everything was extremely quiet, and he couldn't tell where which noises were coming from, but there was sound. After his time not being able to hear anything, he appreciated everything he heard so much more. He hadn't completely lost his hearing. There was still something there to salvage. S.H.I.E.L.D had plenty of contacts; surely some place like Stark Industries could come up with something. Clint had been afraid his archery would be affected, or he wouldn't be able to go on certain missions. But he could totally work with this.

If he strained his ears, he could hear people talking. Maybe Natasha. Hell, that wasn't something he was ever likely to hear, deaf or not. He concentrated on separating the voices and working out what they were saying, but everything was fragmented.

"Well, we can't… together, we'd hold..." Said a woman in a hoarse and timid voice.

"… Leave you here… barely hanging on as it is." That was definitely Phil Coulson's voice. Clint's already happy mood improved. Natasha had found the hostages. He'd never tell her, but she was a freaking genius.

"… Go together, if… up the stairs and… some weapons on the… a clear run. Everyone can defend themselves… and everyone… help those who are injured and can't." Natasha said calmly.

"Assuming we make it up..." This was a man, his voice deep, drawling, and a little arrogant. But it was also broken and cracked. Clint suspected the other hostages hadn't been given much water throughout their stay here.

"…Have a better idea?" Natasha asked coolly.

"…Just saying, you're… sentimental than your reputation makes you out to be. How… make your way through a whole floor of terrorist soldiers… guide Agent Barton the whole time?" Inquired the man. He sounded less confident now he was talking directly to Natasha.

"Would you… take charge here?" She asked.

"No, but-"

"… Shut the fuck up and stop complaining." She ordered.

"Natasha." Coulson said tentatively. "…A point. Maybe I… help Clint, and you could… to get us up there."

"…Not working with any… leaving Clint with them… Injured or idiots." She said blankly. Clint smirked.

"…More danger in the thick of it with you… can't see or hear anything." Coulson said.

"I wouldn't be too sure of that." Clint mumbled.

"Barton, was that you?" Coulson demanded.

"Clint?" Natasha asked disbelievingly.

"Yeah?" He grinned.

"…You've been fucking with me all this time…" She began to threaten him in a tired voice.

He laughed. Despite their less than perfect situation, his mood was getting better and better. He missed having a two sided conversation with her. "I've not. It's been coming back slowly – I can barely hear you, but I get some of it."

Muttering to herself, she breathed a sigh of relief.

"Barton? Are you okay?" Coulson asked.

"I'm fine, Coulson."

"How long… been listening? Did you hear our plan?" Coulson said.

"To get out of here and not die? Yeah, I heard it. It's very well thought out. Ten out of ten. When are we moving?" Clint said.

"They bring food here once a day... We go as soon as they get here." Natasha told him

* * *

><p>Natasha wasn't exactly sure how much time had passed. Still submerged in complete darkness, she was waiting for someone to come along and deliver their food. A small bright light appeared and began to draw nearer. She stood up. She didn't have long to work out what she was going to do. As the light got closer, it illuminated the face of the man bringing them a small tray, with what looked like vomit on it. They were behind metal bars, the lock on the very edge of the cell. Coulson looked pointedly at some of the bars at the bottom of the cell, which were attached with hinges. She imagined it worked like a cat flap when the food was delivered. She looked towards Clint, who seemed to know exactly what she was thinking, and gave a tiny nod. He sat right against the bars, next to the hatch. The man bent down to open the hatch. As soon as he started to fumble in his pocket for the key, Clint slid one arm through the bar and grabbed him at the neck, pulling him up against the bars. He used his other arm to cover the man's mouth. Natasha slipped her hand into the pocket he'd been searching through to find the key, avoiding his flailing arms. She unlocked the hatch and pushed it open – it was just big enough for one person to crawl out of. She knocked the man out with a good punch. Clint followed her out, and they both drew the guns they'd had concealed under their clothes. Coulson began helping the other agents out of the hatch. Their cell was at the end of a tight corridor. Apart from them, the corridor was empty. Coulson took the gun off the man who'd come in. After telling the others to follow them, helping the injured, Natasha, Clint and Coulson proceeded to clear the floor.<p>

Making sure they avoided anywhere likely to be under surveillance, they found their way to the stairs Natasha remembered. The three of them led the way, trying to avoid as many soldiers as they could, not wanting an unconscious body to alert anyone to what was going on. Every time they did take out a soldier, they stopped to take their weapons and hand them around. When they got to the stairs, a decent number of them had something to hurt people with.

"Okay, when we get up there, it's really simple. You just go along the corridor, and take the first left. Carry on until you reach a door, then you're out. When we came in, there weren't that many people up there, but there's a few doors they're probably behind. Security's heaviest outside, but if we each have a gun and we're quick, we might be able to make it. Just try not to get shot." Natasha said.

"If we make it, we need to head for the quinjet." Coulson told them.

"Me and Clint know the way to it, but if we don't make it, go left when you get out and follow the edge of the village 'til you find it." A couple of the agents nodded. "Ready? Okay, let's go."

Natasha didn't remember much about what happened next, she just remembered running like hell, kicking a few people and shooting until her ammo ran out. Miraculously, they made it to the outside of the compound. Not everyone was there, but most of them were. They almost cleared the guards and reached the slums, when something hit her arm. She crumpled to the ground, but someone grabbed her other arm and hauled her up.

Trying to ignore the pain, she pushed herself on, but she was falling behind in the group. Someone was pushing her along, helping her move. Clint wasn't with the group in front of her. It had to be him helping her. Otherwise…

Their group was definitely smaller now. Soon they reached the quinjet, and Natasha let herself get pushed on, let whoever was driving take charge, because the edges of her vision were darkening, and her arm was starting to feel damper, starting to turn red…


	50. May 17th, 16:20

"Morning."

Natasha's eyes fluttered open. She was in a bed. A hospital bed. Maria Hill was sat with her arms and legs crossed on the seat next to her.

Feeling a little groggy, she opened her mouth to ask what the hell had happened, but Hill beat her to it.

"We got you just in time. You were losing a lot of blood. Bullet to the left arm. But just a surface wound," Hill told her, as she looked down to the bandages. "You've been here a day. I've been waiting here since. Coulson's with Clint. He's fine." She added, as Natasha opened her mouth.

Natasha was silent for a moment, before saying "I don't need a babysitter."

"I know you don't. Fury's orders." Maria said briskly.

"What happened to Clint?"

"He's fine. He's been avoiding this floor since you landed, trying to refuse any medical attention. But he's also been trying to sneak up here every hour to check on you. Coulson caught him this morning. I think they're fitting his hearing aids now." Hill informed her.

"Right. Well, I'm just gonna..." She sat up, intending to go and find him, but Hill pushed her back down.

"They're not done with you yet." Hill said.

"Fine." Natasha waited a minute before asking. "Can I have something to drink?"

Hill nodded. "I'll be back in a moment."

After she'd stood up and left, Natasha jumped up. Knowing that she hadn't fooled Hill one bit (the woman probably just wanted a break without being blamed for Natasha's escape), she started to search through the beds. Natasha wanted nothing more than to find Clint, go back to his room and kick back with a bottle of Benson's Cough and Cold medicine: suitable for children aged 3 and under.

She heard him before she saw him - he was perched on the end of one of the beds, with an amused doctor and a very exasperated looking Coulson. Apparently he was testing his brand new hearing aids by shouting at the top of his lungs and rejoicing in the volume.

"Clint, we really need to get you properly checked over-" Coulson began, but Clint interrupted him.

"Fuck no, Coulson, I can hear again! You know what I want to do? I wanna learn to play the drums. Come on, I'm going to buy a drum set." He bellowed.

"Your hearing may never be back up to one hundred percent, but this is the best we can do. These are top of the range hearing aids, Stark worked on them himself, we told him they were for a Victoria's Secret model." The doctor informed him, chuckling over his clipboard.

"I could buy an electric guitar. Coulson, I need you to buy me an electric guitar." Clint said.

"You could never learn to play a guitar, Clint." Coulson said tiredly. He had bags under his eyes and looked very pale, bruises dotted around his face.

"Can you buy me a triangle, then?"

"I think that's everything. Any questions, you know where to find me." The doctor said, shaking Coulson's hand.

"Tasha!" Clint noticed her watching him from a few beds down. "They said you weren't awake yet!"

"Hard to stay asleep with you shouting like that." She said sarcastically.

"Are you sure you should be out of bed, Natasha? The doctors said-" Coulson began.

"They said I'm good to go now. Just to take it easy for a day or two or whatever." She lied.

"Okay. Clint, I'll be back in a moment; do not leave this bed, okay?" Coulson said in a very motherly fashion.

"Got it, stay in bed." Clint repeated obediently. Once Coulson had left, he turned to Natasha. "So, my room?"

She nodded, and they began stealing anything the doctors had left lying around.

"Quick, before he comes back." Natasha told him, while Clint picked up a few last things.

"Can't wait to get in my bed, can you?" He asked with a cheeky smile.

Dodging all the official looking agents, they made their way back to Clint's room, locking the door behind them. While cleaning and tending to each other's various cuts and bruises and taking swigs of the cough medicine, they began to work out what had happened.

"So who got out?" Natasha asked.

"Uh, the guy that you didn't seem to like very much did." Clint smirked.

"Great." She sighed. "Woah, watch where you're sticking that!"

He grinned as he began stitching up one of her cuts.

"Who else?"

"I know that five others got out, but I don't know about the rest." He told her, concentrating hard on the stitches.

"How many of us were there?" She said.

Avoiding her eyes, he shrugged. "More than five."

They sat in silence for a moment. "Where did you learn to do stitches?" She asked.

"I was forced to stay in the med bay for two weeks once, so I followed the staff around for the whole time 'cause I was bored. One of them taught me how to do it." He told her.

"They didn't teach you very well." She winced.

"Better than nothing." He winked. "What do you think Fury's going to do about the terrorists in Bogota?" He asked.

"I don't know. Why did he put anyone there in the first place?" She wondered, accidentally hurting one of his scratches, so he swore under his breath.

"Fury doesn't tell us much." He answered. "He'll have his reasons though, right?"

"I guess. I mean, I suppose we're working for the right side, aren't we?" She said. "Because we wouldn't know, if we just do everything Fury said."

"Yeah, course we are." He assured her confidently, still not meeting her eyes.

"Fucking hell, Clint, watch where you're sticking that needle, you idiot!" She exclaimed.

"Oh, how I've missed hearing your voice." He said drily, smiling.

They talked for a while and watched some of Clint's TV, knowing that if they went outside the doctors and nurses would converge on them. Soon, it started getting late and their eyes started to droop.

"Go to sleep." He told her, when she shook herself awake for the fifth time.

"Yeah." She mumbled resignedly.

"Uh, Nat?" He asked uncomfortably.

"Yeah?" She yawned.

"The doctor said that I need to take my hearing aids out at night."

"Great." She said, only half awake.

"I can't hear as good without them." He said.

"Obviously, idiot, that's why you're wearing them."

"Yeah, I know that, Tasha. But, just... You're listening for both of us, okay?" He mumbled.

"Got it. Now shut up, please." She said, finally letting her eyes close. Clint lay down next to her. Sharing a bed seemed natural to her now, considering that not long before she'd refused to sleep in the same room as him. Usually, she had no problem with it, but tonight Clint was very restless and fidgety, and when they rose in the morning, they both had dark circles under their eyes and were still as tired as when they went to sleep.


	51. June 28th, 9:12

All of the agents who'd been in Bogota were having a relaxing couple of weeks whilst the psychiatrists were waging a war on each other. Half of them believed the agents should be staying home and recovering their mental health, while the other half were sure this would result in the agents going insane and possible mass murder.

Fury had intervened and found a compromise – he'd send them out on missions that were hard enough to keep them busy but easy enough that they weren't taxing themselves. Meanwhile, Clint had worked out a comfortable little routine for each day.

Every night, he would postpone sleeping for as long as possible. He hated not being able to wear his hearing aids, not having any senses that would alert him to anyone who might enter the room. So he tossed and turned and pissed Tasha off until his eyes closed, only to wake up several more times.

In the morning, he'd be awoken by Natasha kicking him off her because _she was not a teddy bear, for fuck's sake,_ and he would retaliate by telling her that it was his room, his bed. He always slept on the left side of the bed, what made her think she could just walk in there and steal his side? He would sleep on the left side of the bed and if that meant sleeping on top of her, so be it.

Eventually, he'd decide he wasn't going to get to sleep again. He'd leave Natasha in bed and go downstairs to get some coffee, trying shake of the drowsiness. On his way down, he'd meet Coulson, and they'd head to the coffee machine together. They'd discuss any of the missions they'd been on lately, the recovery of those agents still in the med bay, the fuck ups of the trainee agents. Sometimes, Agent Hill would join them and inform them on what was going on in more interesting parts of S.H.I.E.L.D. Both of them would raise their eyebrows suggestively at the two cups of coffee in Clint's hands, and he would roll his eyes at the immaturity of his colleagues (then snigger at the discounted candy bars that cost 69 cents), before heading upstairs.

On this particular morning, he got four steps into the room before he noticed it. There was a huge, black, hairy spider perched on top of the TV that he'd been intending to turn on. Now he was going to have to wake Natasha up to deal with this.

"Nat. Nat. Wake up, Nat." Clint tapped her on the shoulder.

"What do you want?" She mumbled, annoyed. Clint wondered if he was the only human being to have heard the Black Widow's morning voice and survive.

"I brought you coffee, Nat. Am I the best friend you've ever had or what?" He whispered. Maybe he could protect some of his dignity if he went about this right.

"You're ruining it by waking me up." She answered monotously, but the corners of her mouth twitched as she accepted the cup.

"Can we watch some TV?" he asked, hoping she'd see it for herself. Unfortunately, she rolled over and grabbed the remote from the bedside table. He'd forgotten she could turn it on from here. Damn technology. "What's that on top of the TV?" He asked feebly, attempting indifference. Her head turned and she began to smirk. Well, there went his dignity. "Please just get rid of it." He begged resignedly, abandoning all pretence.

"You're scared." She said gleefully, grinning mischievously.

"I'm not scared." He told her defiantly.

"Great then," She smiled. "Because I love them, you know." She smirked evilly.

She jumped out of bed and coaxed the thing onto her hand, bringing it back to the bed. Clint stood his ground and eyed the thing with disgust, but refused to move. She bounced back on the bed and sat cross legged, opposite to him, watching for his reaction.

"Very mature." He said disdainfully, watching it cautiously. "But I am a fully grown adult, and I can handle- What the fuck Natasha? Don't get it angry!" Jumping out of the bed like it was on fire, he grabbed a pillow and threw it in the spider's general direction. Natasha had banged her fist on the bed and it had scuttled away in Clint's direction. Natasha fell about laughing, as he started throwing all the pillows and duvets on top of it, trying to bury it. She leant forward and grabbed his wrist, pulling him onto the bed and laughing mirthlessly when he began to squirm uncomfortably. "Where the hell is it, Nat?"

She failed to answer, seeing that she was struggling to breathe. "It's nice to seeing how much you're enjoying this." he deadpanned.

"So," she said when the laughter abated, "Does everyone in this building know your dirty little secret, or am I going to have to tell them?"

"You're a bitch. A cold hearted bitch." He told her, glaring. She smiled and he sat up a little straighter, attempting to regain some of his pride, only for it to fall away again when he felt something on his shoulder and jumped off the bed again.

**A/N: This was suggested **_**ages **_**ago, I thought it was probably time to do it. I like it. It's probably really cheesy, but hey, this is a Clintasha fanfiction, I'm probably going to have to write some real Clintasha in here at one point. **


	52. Day 1, Operation Frostbite

Natasha let her frustration out on an innocent waste paper basket, kicking it so the contents spilled across the floor. She left the room, leaving the mess for the cleaners. Fuck the authorities.

Having to take a test to prove her mental stability did not make her happy. For one thing, she hated the psychiatrists that tried to be understanding, as if they'd been through anything even close to the turmoil in Natasha's life. It made her want to punch them in the face. If that wasn't enough, they always watched her, trying to read her facial expression and body language to get their information. Natasha prided herself on her ability to read people. She was better at it than them, a fact she felt it was necessary to prove in every one of these sessions, which usually resulted in an affronted psychiatrist that wouldn't clear her for duty out of spite. This made her want to punch them even more. And of course, the psychiatrists were determined to link her pessimistic attitude to depression, or her constantly-on-guard demeanour to anxiety. But Natasha had been like this for a long time before Bogota, so it felt more like they were attacking her personality than assessing her mental state. This often pushed her over the edge.

Natasha had finally been cleared, though, after an hour of sitting with the psychiatrist and biting her tongue every time they did something to annoy her, and forcing a smile. Maybe she looked a little like she had toothache for the whole session, but it had worked. Cleared for duty. Now she just needed a mission.

Clint had told her he was going to find Coulson while she took her test. Coulson had been acting very secretive lately. Since about a month ago, he'd been switching from bouncing-on-the-balls-of-his-feet-ecstatic to the-apocalypse-is-nearing-miserable like lightning. He refused to tell them anything, and so Natasha and Clint had come to the conclusion he'd started getting his period. However, when he'd come up to them this morning in the S.H.I.E.L.D canteen, beaming from ear to ear, buttered his toast with his coffee and taken a sip of ketchup, they decided they had to find out what was distracting him so much.

She found Clint tailing him down a corridor, pestering him for information. "Nat!" Clint shouted when he saw her. "Give me a hand here!"

"Look," Coulson sighed, turning on Clint, "You'll both know soon enough, but until you've been briefed, it's classified." He looked exasperated, but still unable to conceal his excitement.

"Come on, Coulson, if we're going to find out anyway it's really not going to do much harm…" Clint pleaded.

Coulson looked slightly at war with himself, and after a few seconds, he relented. "In here." He nodded towards an empty conference room to his right. Natasha and Clint eagerly filed in, and made themselves comfortable on the opposite side of the table to Coulson, who sat nervously on the edge of his seat, drumming his fingers on the table. Natasha leaned back expectantly, and Clint rested his feet on the side of her chair.

"Shoot." Clint smiled.

"Okay, you remember how we sent a team to look for Steve Rogers?" Burst out Coulson.

"Oh god." Clint sighed disappointedly, dropping his head back in irritation.

"Is that what's been up with you?" Said Natasha.

"You want to know what this is about or not?" Coulson asked threateningly. "The Council cut the funding for the search a while ago. They said we can't waste money on finding a dead man anymore when we should be putting more effort into Project P.E.G.A.S.U.S, and they pulled the team back."

"And that would be around the time your mood swings started and you stopped telling me about what you were up to?" Clint asked.

"What's Project P.E.G.A.S.U.S?" Natasha inquired.

Coulson ignored them. "Director Fury knew we were getting closer to finding him, so he kept a team out there, secret, of course. That's why I couldn't tell you. They're not even S.H.I.E.L.D, they're from a separate organisation. They don't even know what they're looking for, they think they're monitoring the temperature and keeping an eye on climate change. But we got a call from them yesterday."

"They found something?" Natasha said, sitting up straighter.

"They found _him." _Coulson beamed, his eyes shining. "They've actually found him, they-"

"Don't go all religious on us, Coulson; just tell us what's going on." Clint interrupted, rolling his eyes.

"We lost communication with them. The satellites suggest there's been a large glacial shift; we're not sure what's happened to them. We can't send anyone there on a rescue mission, because they're not officially there. That's where you two are going to come in." Coulson smiled nervously, standing up and heading towards the door. "You didn't hear any of this from me." He said sternly, and headed out of the door.

"Where's he going?" Natasha asked.

"Probably off to his Captain America shrine. What do you think?" Clint asked, turning to face her.

"Not really what we're used to; is it? It's going to be less fighting people and more battling the weather." Natasha mused.

"I suppose. Still, can you imagine how pissed Coulson is that he's not going?" Clint said.

"Fury wouldn't let him. He's _way_ too compromised." Natasha laughed.

"I can just imagine him halting the whole mission to steal a couple of Rogers' hairs for when they perfect the cloning process." Clint sniggered.

They both laughed, but they were soon interrupted by Barton's phone ringing.

"Director Fury, what can I do for you?" Clint asked smoothly. "Right away, sir." He nodded, ending the call and turning to Natasha. "He says we're to get our asses up to his office ASAP, he's got a mission for us."

**A/N: Okay, I know that discovering Captain America is supposed to happen just before the Avengers, but frankly, that doesn't fit into my plans, so screw it, I'm doing it my way. I want them to be involved in it because it's fun, but if I do it according to the official plan, Clint and Natasha would both be too busy for this and it doesn't really affect the plot, so I'm going with it. Let me know what you think.**


	53. Day 2, Operation Frostbite

Pretending he could see further than arm's reach through the thick blizzard, Clint was flying the quinjet blind. Finding Captain America was about as likely as spotting a penny on the icy floor beneath them, which could be any distance away, for all he knew.

"Clint, we're never going to get anywhere in this storm." Natasha said from beside him. "I think we should land." Her tone indicated that she knew he was likely to protest.

"Nah, we're fine." He assured her in his most optimistic voice. They weren't, of course – outside was a dark grey swirl, apart from the short beams of light cast by the quinjet that illuminated snowflakes falling at the speed of bullets. Nevertheless, Clint would much rather stay up in the storm than try to land in these conditions. Secretly he knew that she hated flying and wanted to get on land as soon possible, but he wasn't going to aggravate her by accusing her of being scared, not when they were this high up.

"The only way we're going to find them like this is if we crash into them." Natasha argued.

"I can't land in this, Nat." He told her plainly. "We're just going to have to stay up here until the storm finishes."

"That could be ages; we'll run out of fuel." She said reasonably. There was some truth in that. Though he was sure that S.H.I.E.L.D probably used some advanced alternate fuel from Stark that could run the plane for ever, it wasn't his area of expertise and he wasn't quite prepared to bet his life on it. "You're friend's probably getting lonely stuck in the back." She added, holding in a smirk.

"He's just fine, okay, he's tough." Clint said confidently.

"Switch places with me, I'll land, if you're too scared." She said indifferently, though Clint knew she was trying to provoke him.

"I am not scared." Clint said. "I'm making a judgement call. I don't think it's safe."

He avoided her eyes and stared straight out into the storm ahead of him, but he could feel her sceptical gaze. "Look, if you don't think you can do it-"

"I _can _do it!"

"Then why are we still in the air then?"

"Fine. If we crash, Romanoff, it's on you." He said.

Someone, somewhere, had deemed it safe to give Clint a license to fly this thing, and he was now blindly flying into a colossal block of ice to show off. He started the descent, one hundred percent sure he was going to crash. However, somehow they managed to land on the ground, far from gracefully, in one piece.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" She joked, smirking.

"I hate you." He said, shaking his head and grinning in spite of himself.

"Aw, I know. I'll grab the tent and supplies. I suppose you've got to go get your friend." She added distastefully. "Make sure you've got him under control when he comes near me." she ordered.

He laughed. "Got it."

Fury had assigned them a third passenger for their trip, because they needed someone with real navigational skills and someone to scare off any natural predators in the area. Natasha was not very fond of him. Clint fastened a leash around his neck as his face got licked, then he led him out of the quinjet.

"It's fucking freezing out here." Clint grumbled through around one hundred layers.

"What did you expect?" she asked. "Clint, get him off of me!"

Clint sighed, tugging on the leash and leading the dog over to himself. "She's just jealous." He told the dog, rubbing behind his ears. Clint didn't know what type of dog it was, but it looked like a husky, and that was good enough for him.

"Yes, I'm jealous. I've been waiting to lick your face since I met you." She said drily.

"I know you have." He winked, earning himself an exasperated eye roll.

"Whatever. Come on, we've got a frozen soldier to find."


	54. Day 3, Operation Frostbite

Natasha watched the dog warily. After a day of searching with no results, they'd given in to sleep. Clint had taken the first watch, but now he was sleeping silently whilst she lay awake in their pathetic little tent. It was warm enough, but it was cramped and damp and smelled of wet dog.

Since Clint had gone to sleep, the dog (which Clint had creatively christened 'dog') had been sat by his side on alert. Clint had been talking to it before – like it understood him. He'd called her heartless for not doing it too. She had to disagree. It was an animal, and the only words it knew were 'sit' and 'lie down' and 'shh'.

She made eye contact with it, and it cocked its head. She held out her hand and it crawled over Clint's body to sniff it. Stroking it behind the ears, she decided it wasn't _all _bad. She just wished it would stop licking her. It placed a paw on her knee and she let herself smile a little. Opening her mouth, she caught herself just in time. She would not talk to a dog.

"Aw, look at you two." Murmured Clint as he woke up, his voice raspy. He sat up rubbing his eyes. "Knew you couldn't resist her."

"You said it was a him." Natasha said.

"Huh." Calling it over to him, he held its two front paws and helped it stand on its hind legs. "I don't know what I'm looking for here."

"If you don't see anything, I'm guessing it's female." She smirked.

"I'll ask Coulson when we get back. Maybe he'll let us keep him." He added excitedly.

"No." She said plainly. "Come on, we've got to put this tent down.

Unzipping the tent, an icy blast of wind slapped her in the face. After packing up the tent, they began their trek, following the dog because they didn't have any better ideas on which direction to go. Snow fell so thick that they could barely see where they were going, and what they could see was a lot of ice and snow.

"Seriously, though, I want to keep the dog." Clint informed her after they'd walked in silence for a while.

"Even if I agreed, Clint, Fury wouldn't let you keep that thing in your room." She said.

"Nah, he will. Fury'll let me do anything if I bother him long enough." He smirked confidently.

"You might want to remember that he's your boss." She suggested.

"It's fine, he's always been alright with me. First time I ever met him, when Coulson brought me to S.H.I.E.L.D, I was pretty pissed at everyone, so Fury had to come and talk to me. He kept saying crap like 'We want to be your friends.' So I vowed to hold him to that for the rest of his working life, and treat him how I'd treat a friend." He told her.

"Why were you pissed at everyone?" Natasha asked curiously.

"Long story. They'd just terminated the circus I'd been working at." He said, avoiding looking at her. "That was the first home I'd had since Barney, really, so…"

"You've mentioned Barney before."

He swallowed. "Yeah, my brother."

"You have a brother?"

"Yeah."

"Where is he?" Natasha asked tentatively.

"Don't know. Long story."

"We've got a long walk. You can give me the full run down."

Clint smirked for a moment, and then took a deep breath. "When I was around seven, my parents died."

"Sorry."

"Don't be." He muttered bitterly. "We got stuck in a couple of orphanages but we never lasted long. One time, Barney said we should run away."

"So you went to the circus." Natasha guessed.

"Not at first. We spent a while sleeping rough. Ended up finding this place in a park. Then the circus came through, and Barney snuck me in to see it. I really liked the archery bit, so Barney stole me a bow and some arrows. I practised with them the whole week the circus was there, until T- the guy who owned the bow caught me. I thought he'd call the cops, but he kind of took me in. Barney, too, but they didn't like him as much there, he wasn't as good at circus stuff. But they trained me in archery. Then one day, he kind of messed up… he got kicked out. When it was time for the circus to move again, they were just going to leave him behind. He convinced me to go with them." His voice broke slightly. "I have no idea where he is now."

Natasha didn't say anything, and they walked in silence for a moment. She was used to hearing stories about Clint at SHIELD, before he'd known her, but no one ever seemed to talk about the time before that. Apart from telling her he'd been in the circus, he'd barely shared anything about that life with her. Clint didn't tend to hold things back, which had always made her wonder why he never talked it. She guessed the memory of Barney was too painful.

"There's one way to put a damper on the mood, eh?" Clint forced a smile. "I don't usually talk about Barney. To anyone."

"Couldn't SHIELD help you look for him?" Natasha asked.

"Fury suggested it when I first started and they were trying to get me to cooperate, but he's not mentioned it since then. Part of me doesn't really want to find out, cause it's most likely he's…" He trailed off.

_Dead,_ Natasha thought, though she didn't feel finishing his sentence was necessary.

Up ahead, dog started bounding back to them, barking loudly. "Hey, dog, what is it?" Clint asked, adopting his baby voice he insisted on using in the presence of the dog. She almost asked what it had seen, before she reminded herself that it couldn't understand her.

Neither of them could see anything that could get it so worked up, but after jogging after it for a few moments, their eyes fell upon some distant orange blobs that were moving an awful lot like people.

"That's got to be them, right?" Clint asked.

"Can't think why anyone else would be here." Natasha said.

Getting closer, they saw that the people were buried in their fluorescent orange coats, huddled together for warmth.

"Science guys?" Clint called out to them as they got closer.

"Rescue people?" Someone shouted back.

"That's us." Clint waved at them

"Good dog." Natasha murmured, stroking its ears as they walked.

"You just talked to the dog." Clint grinned.

"I _praised_ the dog. There's a difference." She snapped.

"Whatever." He laughed, as they reached the group of people. "Hi. We heard you found Captain America."

**A/N: Okay. Apologies are in order. I haven't updated in a **_**very**_** long time, but I've got GCSEs in a couple of weeks, and I might be starting to freak out. But I had to update with some fluff because I don't know if you noticed but Age of Ultron just blew a PRETTY BIG DAMN HOLE IN MY SHIP.** **I worked so hard to make this fanfic so it could be canon. So my plan is to just go into denial and pretend AoU didn't happen. I'll write my own. Thanks for reading!**


	55. Day 4, Operation Frostbite

"So, what's the deal, we melt him down here, or we carve him out like a statue and bring him back?" Clint asked, as he was lowered into a hole drilled in the ice. Underneath the surface were the dark remains of the plane that Captain America had crashed in. On a suicide mission to save the world. Sacrificing himself for the benefit of everyone. _Damn,_ Clint thought, _I've got to stop listening to Coulson._

"We've got to slowly bring his temperature back to normal." One of the scientists said.

"Why? You think he survived eighty years in an ice cube and heating him up a little will kill him?" Natasha asked, shining her torch directly into Clint's eyes and smirking as he landed.

"We don't know, this hasn't exactly happened before." The scientist admitted.

"Where is he?" Clint asked. The scientist pointed him in the right direction and shone his torchlight on a shield a few inches deep in the ice. "All you can see is his shield – how do you know he's even there?"

"What do you think his face was frozen like?" Natasha wondered. "You think he was screaming when it happened?"

Clint grinned, but the scientist looked at her exasperatedly. "So, what's the plan?"

"We've got a quinjet somewhere around here, we're going to take you back on that, so I guess we chisel him out or something and I dunno, drag him?" Clint suggested.

"That's going to weigh too much, if we have the equipment here then we should melt him now, wrap him up and _then_ drag him. It'll be quicker." Natasha countered.

"All right, let's do it."

Clint sat with Dog whilst they removed a block of ice from the frozen ship and pulled it up to the surface into a dark green tent full of medical stuff Clint and Natasha weren't allowed to touch. After thawing the majority of the ice, they uncovered a blond man wearing tights – unfortunately not screaming. Clint would have liked to have something to laugh at, because this guy's appearance was making him feel a little inadequate, especially with the way Natasha was appraising him.

"I can see why Coulson likes him." she said approvingly. He wasn't really sure how he felt about that.

It took a while to completely defrost him. No one was sure whether they should wrap him up for the journey back; after all, he'd proven he could handle the cold. In the end, Clint and Natasha had to put him in the scientist's truck, which of course wasn't working and would have to be pushed down to the quinjet to be fixed. Once they got there, Captain America would be transferred to the quinjet and the scientists would take their truck to the point where they'd be picked up by their company, with apparently nothing to show for their expedition.

"Careful, if we scratch him Coulson will kill us." Natasha warned as Clint shoved Captain America into the truck.

"He'll be fine." Clint grunted.

"This is going to take forever to push." One of the scientists sighed, eyeing the truck wearily.

"I know." Clint agreed.

"We should try and wake him up. I bet with that super soldier serum he could push the whole truck." Natasha suggested.

"I think we'll manage." Clint snapped.

Slowly, they pushed the truck back to the quinjet. Clint and the dog managed the directions since they'd been the only ones paying attention on the way. It took them a whole day, plus a night in a very cramped tent with a dog walking all over them, before they reached the quinjet, where they traded Captain America for supplies to fix the broken truck. The scientists didn't stick around for long, and Clint was soon starting the engine to fly back home.

* * *

><p>Clint and Natasha both sat at Fury's desk, with Dog jumping up onto Clint's knee. Officially, they were there for debriefing, but Fury didn't seem very interested in them – the mission had gone smoothly and he had much bigger problems on his hands.<p>

First on Clint's to-do list was to find out where Coulson was. He'd seen him when they landed; Coulson dutifully waiting to meet his idol. He'd watched him sleep for a while; then took off. Fury sighed and told them he was away on a mission, but didn't seem to say much else on the subject. "He's been dealing with a problem." Fury sighed. "How's the captain doing?"

"He's still asleep." Natasha reported. "They've put a game on from 1941 for when he wakes up."

"He's with the medical staff, on the other side of the building!" Clint said, looking at her. "When did you become an expert in Captain America?" he demanded, the dog jumping off his knee with the sudden change in tone.

Natasha raised her eyebrows and stared at him coolly. "Coulson told me, just before he left. What's up with you?"

Before Clint could retort, he heard Fury groan. At first, he thought it was directed at him, but Fury was glaring at his computer screen.

"What is it?" Clint asked. Fury didn't answer; he just turned his computer screen sideways so they could see it. He was streaming an interview with the one and only Tony Stark. "Prick." Clint muttered.

"I wish we could deal with this for him, he'll find a way to screw it up." Fury groaned.

"_Uh… It's been a while since I was in front of you; I figure I'll just stick to the cards this time."_

_"_What's he done?" Natasha asked.

"Don't even get me started." Fury said wearily.

"_There has been speculation that I was involved in the events that occurred on the freeway and the rooftop…"_

"What happened?" Clint asked.

"Long story. Ask Coulson when he gets back. He had a much more interesting mission than you two."

"_That conveniently appeared, despite the fact that-"_

_"I know that it's confusing. It is one thing to question the official story and another thing entirely to make wild accusations or insinuate that I'm a superhero."_

"Oh, Stark." Fury said exasperatedly, resting his face in his hands. "Stick to the script."

_"That would be outlandish and, uh, fantastic. I, uh… I'm just not the hero type…"_

"He's got one thing right." Clint muttered, gesturing for Dog to get back up on his knee.

"_Laundry list of character defects, all the mistakes I've made, largely public… The truth is…"_

_"_Spit it out." Natasha said impatiently.

"_… I am Iron Man."_

"STARK!" Fury cursed, when a voice interrupted on the intercom.

"_All agents Code 13. All agents Code 13."_

"What the fuck is happening?" Clint asked, bewildered.

Fury switched to a window on his computer showing the CCTV cameras, where a man with blond hair was streaking through the corridors; too fast to see his face.

"Damn it!" Fury shouted, storming out of the room, leaving Natasha and Clint on their own.

"What the hell just happened?" Natasha asked.

"Not a fucking clue." Clint said, watching Fury run through the building on the CCTV. "Come on."

**A/N: Yeah, I'm waking Steve up here. I can just stick him in the gym until I'm ready to bring him back into the story, but it felt like it worked here.**


	56. July 9th, 11:43

For once, Natasha didn't want the mission being handed to her. It'd been a week since Tony Stark had owned up to being a closet superhero, and Captain America was walking, talking, and running through the streets of Manhattan. This was where the action was. They, however, were with Coulson, who was walking them to Fury's office to be briefed for a mission.

"You guys, this is top secret." Coulson warned them. "I mean, highest clearance level, abs-"

"Coulson, we're world class spies, we know what top secret means." Clint grumbled.

"Fine. Also, don't be pulling any of your usual crap in there, Barton. Fury's not in the best of moods, with everything that's going on. I know he's having trouble talking to the Captain. The guy sleeps, eats, and works out. It's like he's a machine."

Coulson spoke with a little bit of awe in his voice, forcing Clint to do an eye roll that made Natasha proud. She held in a smirk. "So he's not taking this all very well?" Natasha asked

"Yeah, he's struggling to come to terms with-"

"Hold up a sec," Clint interrupted, with mock surprise, "Captain America is struggling with something? I thought he was completely brilliant at every single little thing?"

Coulson glared at him. "What is your problem lately?"

Natasha looked between them warily. Since Rogers had woken up, the agency had barely talked about anything else. Especially Coulson, one of Clint's closest friends at SHIELD, and admittedly, Natasha too – his other closest friend at SHIELD. She definitely had an idea what was going on with Clint, but she wasn't going to mention it, not when he hadn't worked it out for himself yet.

On top of that, Coulson had been distant with him all week, either watching over his idol or dealing with Tony Stark. If Clint had disliked Stark before, he hated him now. Everywhere he turned, it was either Iron Man or Captain America, and Natasha could tell his patience was wearing thin. He hadn't even been allowed to keep his dog. Long story short, he'd been acting like a dick all week.

"I'm sorry, it's just we've discussed his condition ten times since he woke up, and it's not changed once. Give it a rest Coulson." He muttered, annoyed.

"Barton, if you can't-" Coulson began, as they reached Fury's office.

"I've got to be briefed right now, Coulson, for a real mission. Why don't you go babysit Rogers some more? I expect he's started crapping the American flag by now." Clint opened the door to Fury's office and entered, leaving Coulson with a stunned look on his face.

Natasha gave Coulson an awkward apologetic smile, but followed Clint. She knew he was being completely out of line, but she wasn't going to involve herself in that.

"Romanoff. Close the door, please." Fury ordered from behind his desk. Natasha did, and then sat down in the chair next to Clint, casting him a quick glare before turning her attention to Fury.

"So. With the whole agency talking, I'm assuming you're both fully up to speed with everything to do with Captain America and Iron Man?"

To her right, Clint let out a big sigh, and Natasha saw him mutter an inaudible 'For god's sake.'

"Believe me, Barton, I'm tired of it too. But the rumors floating around haven't been confined to SHIELD. One agency in particular has been brought to our attention. They're trying to replicate what we've achieved here." He pushed a closed file towards them. "What I'm about to tell you never leaves this room, okay? Because we've been infiltrated. I'm not sure who I can trust right now. Barton, you're my best agent. Romanoff, I've had every movement you've made here closely monitored." Natasha rolled her eyes. "You two are my safest bets."

Even though he hadn't paid her the slightest bit of a compliment, Natasha felt good. She was the best again. The top agent. Natural order had been restored.

"This organization – we don't know who they are, what they're working towards, or where they're getting their intelligence from. But we've had a few run ins with some of their agents. I think you've met them before. They have a nasty habit of taking cyanide pills when they're trapped."

Natasha nodded. "The agent in England."

"From what we've got out of the few we've managed to catch, they've got a spy feeding them our progress. They're working on the super soldier serum. That ship you found the Cap in? We sent a team back to retrieve the rest of it, but they were hijacked by these guys. And we've heard about some of their… failed experiments. Also, we have evidence they're looking at Stark's suit, too. It's a difficult situation, especially since we have no clue who they are."

"So what do you want us to do?" Clint asked.

"You both have separate tasks. Romanoff, I've got you a cover as a scientist. The group of scientists working for the agency is hired by them, and this place is extremely secretive, so none of your colleagues will understand what they're really working for there. You can try and get some information, but they won't know much. Your primary focus is to get into their data and wipe everything clean. If they're working on the serum, I want them starting from the beginning. You're gonna need to get into their computer system and make sure there's nothing left, and destroy as much of the physical evidence as you can. Barton, you-"

"How come I'm not with Natasha?" Clint asked.

"May I remind you that you're capable of working alone, Barton. You and Agent Romanoff don't need to constantly be joined at the hip." Fury said coldly. "And one new employee arouses less suspicion than two. Besides, I've learnt from experience that you and science don't go together. You'll be undercover as one of the agents working for the actual agency. I need you to find out everything about them that you can. The thing is, they're not gonna tell you much until they think you're really one of them. Think you can handle it?"

"Yes sir." Clint said, his face impassive.

"You two will be completely on your own. This isn't an official mission. No earpieces. And you'll be strangers to each other. We've got your aliases, new addresses, everything you need in that file. I want you both to read up and take this seriously. You need to know your aliases inside out. I want you ready by the 10th. Okay?"

"Yes, sir." They said in unison, and headed out of the office.

**A/N: Okay, sorry for the wait, but the whole fanfiction's been under reconstruction. There's a lot that needed tweaking, but it's not really changed. I just wanted to say that there's a little more of Clint's backstory in chapter 54 than there was originally, if you want to check that out. Thanks for reading **


	57. Day 1, Operation Regrowth

Clint squirmed uncomfortably. His new mentor had greeted him with a smile, sure, but the type of smile that looked like he was smiling at the prospect of how he was going to make Clint's life hell. After being armed and briefed on his basic duties here, this guy had started showing him around the base.

Clint was supposedly working at 'Regrowth Research and Development Ltd.' which was definitely an alias. Not that Clint could talk - he was going by the name Aiden Harris, a recently unemployed 30 year old.

The whole building had a creepy feel to it. Nothing was painted; in the corridors there were no official walls or ceilings. It was like walking through one giant boiler room, where everything was made of metal poles and twisted around in a giant bronze maze. The rooms and offices were all plain old stone walls and dusty floors. The only modernised place throughout the building was the science department, where Clint had hoped to see Natasha on his tour, just to check she'd got in all right.

He hated undercover work. Carrying around a bow and arrow would give him away in a second, so he was forced to carry around a gun. He could use it just fine, but he hated the way it felt in his hand, hated having to adjust his aim.

"We'll assign you your duties every morning. Make an effort not to be late in." His mentor told him in a bored voice, as they left the science lab and began climbing up a rusty staircase.

"So what does this place actually do?" Clint asked tentatively.

"Don't worry about it. You just help us stop intruders." The man huffed.

"You get intruders often?" Clint probed.

"We get a lot of people trying to steal info. And a lot that want to stop our work."

"What type of work?" Clint said, hoping he wasn't pushing his luck.

"Let's just say we're working towards taking proper control of the population."

Clint laughed nervously. "Er, control?"

The man slowed his walking pace so he was next to Clint. "Yeah. That's what we work towards here. We all say we want freedom. Freedom of speech, freedom of religion, whatever. But that's all crap. Nobody wants it. That's why we create all these restrictions for ourselves. Rules about what you can say, rules you have to follow if you want to believe in something. We're so scared by our own freedom we set up this structure to our lives that stops us having to deal with it. I mean, look at America. Preach all you want about freedom, but you still opt to let Tony Stark fly around in a death suit prepared to shoot anyone who disobeys the rules of the country. Here, we know that no one really wants freedom. We just need to convince people to hand it over, and then take control properly."

Clint's face must have looked funny, because he felt stunned. The man laughed and said "You know, I give a better speech every time there's a new agent. Come on, I have to check on Subject C before my shift's over, I'll show you."

Clint followed the man, his mind working furiously. He knew there was something fundamentally wrong with everything the man just said, but he couldn't put into words _why_ there was. Because it was all true. He couldn't argue with the guy, because everything he'd said had been right. He thought back to this morning, when he'd felt like having pasta, but because it was breakfast he'd eaten cereal instead. For a moment, he was mad at society for tricking him into thinking that the time of day influenced his food choices. Stupid social constructs. But then he shook his head and told himself to snap out of it, because there was definitely something wrong with this guy's theory. He needed freedom. And even if Clint agreed with the man, the guy was still one of the last people he wanted taking control of everyone.

They opened a door onto a metal bridge overlooking a warehouse. They began to cross. An agent called up to them from below, a comm device in his hands. "Sir, we have a new shipment-"

"Take it with the rest." Clint's mentor shouted down. The agent spoke into his comm device and two massive doors opened at the opposite end of the warehouse, so a small truck could enter. A couple more agents began unloading it, and Clint's eyes fell on their cargo.

"Yeah, that's Stark tech." Clint's mentor confirmed. "The guy's not careful about where his trash ends up. I think this is from his attempts for his new suit, the Mark Five. Sometimes, when a design isn't working for him we can scavenge what he throws away. We've been getting a lot from the Mark Five. He wants to make the suit fit in a case." He chuckled at Clint, like he thought that Tony Stark might be taking it a step too far this time.

"Yeah, well, one man's trash is another man's treasure." Clint commented absentmindedly, staring down at the remains of the failed suit. _That can't be good._

His mentor laughed. "Exactly. Anyway, follow me, right now I have something more important to deal with."

Clint followed him to a chamber with a crowd of scientists inside. He scanned everyone's faces, but Natasha wasn't there. There was a table set to the side with some sharp looking science-y stuff, like they were in a dentist's office. Trying not to gag, Clint followed his mentor through the crowd. The room smelt like a horrible combination of sweat, something metallic, and burning flesh. The humid air only intensified the stench. Not wanting to lose his composure in front of all these people, he made an effort to breathe through his mouth.

Reaching the centre of the crowd, Clint found the source of the smell. The scientists were all gathered around him, checking charts and taking notes. He was a young man, strapped shirtless to a bed, his hands and feet tied, and straps locking his body down. Dark matted hair plastered the edges of his face and around his neck. His eyes were closed but Clint wasn't sure if he was asleep – he seemed to be fighting his restraints. With hollow cheeks and diminished features, he looked like he hadn't been fed properly in weeks, but his body looked in top condition, like he'd just got back from the gym. In place of his left arm, he had the most advanced looking prosthetic Clint had ever seen, with a Soviet Star printed near the shoulder.

"Just one of our test subjects." His mentor told him indifferently. "Cybernetic implant that arm, top of the range. Made a long time before I started working here. No need to worry, he's heavily sedated."

Whilst his mentor talked to some of the scientists, Clint watched the man. He noticed scars all over his body, which left him in no doubt about what the pointy science-y things were for. His wrist on his real arm was red raw from pulling on his restraints, and the effort was making him bleed at his wrist, the inside of his elbow – anyplace where Clint could tell the scientists had been relentlessly sticking needles. Nobody had even bothered to clean the dry blood off him.

This place was definitely wrong, Clint decided. They needed to get out of here as soon as possible.

Once they'd finished in the chamber, the man led him to the surveillance room to keep an eye on the CCTV footage. There were plenty of other guys in there. Apparently when the agents got bored, they headed here to hang out so they could claim they were still working. Sitting awkwardly to the side of a group of the agents, he listened to their conversation to see what else he could get, but they weren't saying anything important. He noticed there were only male agents – the only women he'd seen were some scientists. Clint realised this was probably why he and Natasha had been split up; Fury probably couldn't get her hired as an agent, which was what she'd have been best at. He made a mental note of that – maybe it would help him work out who exactly these people were. All he knew so far was that he didn't like them, he decided, as he tried not to watch the CCTV feed from the chamber with the man strapped to the chair.

* * *

><p>After finishing his first day, Clint headed back to the apartment Fury had set up for him. Even though he'd left his new job for now, he had the feeling he was still being watched. After spending a day in the surveillance room, he'd learnt that the agency felt completely comfortable with placing cameras in their agent's homes to keep track of them. As he unlocked the door and stepped inside, he made an effort to look at home. He kicked his shoes off and lay back on the couch. He would've turned the TV on, but he couldn't see a remote and wasn't sure where the button was on the TV. Still feeling like he was being watched and not wanting to look like he didn't know how to work his own TV, he lay back and yawned. He wanted to call Natasha. Why hadn't he seen her today? He'd seen a bunch of scientists. <em>I can't call her,<em> he told himself, _we're both being watched. _He lay on his couch and thought about how much he hated undercover work until he drifted off to sleep.


	58. Day 2, Operation Regrowth

"Katy?"

Katy. That was her. Katy was the new scientist at Regrowth Research and Development. Katy was smart, intelligent, and good at her job. Katy didn't mind concocting evil poisons to inject into live human beings.

Natasha, however, did. This whole set up was very familiar. Injecting test subjects with whatever new serum the scientists had come up with. Being strapped down and pushed to see just how much pain you could take. Removing you from all human interaction and reprogramming your mind to turn you into a weapon. Everything was exactly the same as when Natasha had been one of those test subjects. Now she was getting a taste of the other side, the life of the people who had done this to her.

She'd never hated herself more.

"Yeah?" Natasha replied, finding her voice.

"Are you okay?" Alice asked. Alice was a short woman, with sharp features and mousy brown hair tied back in a tight ponytail. She looked concerned as she watched Natasha catalogue a new sample of the serum. Rob had also paused from his work to check on Natasha. He was a tall, pudgy man with messy short brown hair. He and Alice were the people Natasha hated least in this lab, and they seemed to have grown quite attached to Katy.

"Yeah, of course."

"How come you keep doing that?" Rob asked. "You look like you're in another world."

"I'm fine, really. What am I doing next?" Since Katy was just the new girl, she wasn't trusted with much except labelling things and moving samples from place A to B. Which was fine by Natasha, seeing as how she knew nothing about science.

"You could take this file down to Roberts." Replied another scientist, who was less fond of Katy.

"I can do that on my way to-" Alice began.

"No, I've got it." Natasha said hastily. She needed to get out of this room.

Outside, the lab, all she wanted to do was slump against the wall and bury her head in her new lab coat. She was helping them. Even when she'd wiped their data, the test subjects would still be affected for life because of the serum she'd _helped_ to make. She was disgusted at herself.

As much as she wanted to, she couldn't let any weakness show on her face. This place had cameras everywhere. After delivering the file, she decided to take a walk. No one would notice her missing. As long as she walked with purpose, none of the agents roaming the building seemed to question her. They assumed she had somewhere to be, something to do.

Hoping to either find something useful or run into Clint, she kept taking random turns into new levels of the building she hadn't seen yet. After two days here, she still hadn't run into Clint. They wouldn't be able to communicate, but she at least wanted to know he'd made it in okay.

She found herself opening the door into a large room where a dozen people were bent over computers, not paying her any attention. In the centre of the room, a row of metal soldiers were staring her in the face. They looked like bad copies of Tony Stark's Iron Man suit. Nevertheless, they were in the shape of a suit, and looked much further along than Fury had thought they were.

"Plant the file in Hammer's network. Make him think it's his, he can finish the blueprint from here." One of the people said.

"You sure? Remember his last attempt? If the footage of that got out…"

Natasha heard footsteps echoing down the corridor. She dodged out of the room and headed away, but the footsteps kept following her. Retracing her steps, she made her way back to the science lab, but she started to forget which turns to take. As she got more and more confused, the footsteps got closer and closer.

"Hey! Who are you?" Three men in black were closing in on her. The man in front had been the one to shout, but she noticed one behind him – Clint. His eyes flicked between Natasha and the other agents. "You work here?"

"Yeah, down in the science lab." Natasha informed him.

"Never seen you before." He commented.

"I'm new here. I got lost on my way back." Natasha lied.

"Well, lucky you. We're headed down there now." he told her.

Reluctantly, she allowed the agent to walk her back. She could feel Clint watching her from behind.

"You know where we're up to on the serum?" Asked the agent.

"Maybe a week 'till it's ready for testing, I think."

"Excellent." He muttered.

When they reached the science lab, Natasha headed straight for her new friends Alice and Rob. "Where have you been?" Alice demanded.

"Bathroom." Natasha said easily.

"You missed it; we almost blew up the lab!" Alice informed her.

"What?" Natasha mumbled distractedly. She was watching the agents talking to the head scientist, trying to catch what they were saying.

"Well, we didn't." Rob explained. "But you know how we've been increasing the level of potassium in the serum? Turns out decreasing it and adding…" Natasha stopped listening. Across the room, a scientist had begun sterilising needles. "So we should be testing it really soon."

"How soon?" Natasha had hoped she'd be out of here before the next trial, but she still hadn't figured out the best way to destroy all of their existing versions of the serum first. She did not want to be around when they began experimenting.

"Tomorrow, maybe." Alice told her.

Crap. Natasha tensed a little. Maybe her worry showed on her face, because Clint caught her eye from across the room and slightly raised his eyebrows as if to say: _You okay?_

Telling herself to get a grip, she barely nodded her head. She was still a professional. For now, she didn't have a history in the Red Room. She was Katy, and Katy was going to come to work tomorrow and test the Super Soldier Serum, and she wasn't going to let it get to her one bit.


	59. Day 3, Operation Regrowth

Clint was beginning to notice Natasha's absence. He guessed it was about how he was living on his own here. After Bogota, Natasha had migrated to his room at SHIELD. Neither of them had talked about it, but they had a silent agreement that this was the new arrangement. Having to take his hearing aids out at night made him feel vulnerable, so having Natasha in the room helped him sleep better. On this mission he'd resigned to the fact he'd have to drink a lot of coffee. Mainly, the problem was that he'd gotten so used to her presence, just her being _there_, and he couldn't help notice that she wasn't now.

Dreading the rest of the day, he got dressed. He hated everything about his new job. The other agents all believed in the twisted philosophy that his mentor, Agent Turner had told him about. Acting didn't come naturally to him like some agents, so it was a constant struggle not to show how much he hated everyone. Add that to the list of reasons he hated undercover work.

When he arrived at the building, he didn't even bother to look for Agent Turner. He knew what his duties would include. Sitting quietly in the surveillance room without causing any trouble. They were extremely wary of their new agents here, so this was the only task he'd been trusted with so far. It was incredibly dull.

When he arrived, the three other agents he worked with were waiting for him. "Someone's taking over surveillance today; we've got to help out with Subject C." Agent Evans informed him. "In case he goes crazy like last time."

Clint nodded half-heartedly – as much as he hated watching surveillance tapes, he didn't fancy spending the day in that chamber either. Nevertheless, he followed his co-workers down to the lab to escort the scientists and their serum to Subject C.

When they got there, the scientists were rushing about, taking last minute readings and measurements. He noticed Natasha in a corner with the two scientists she'd talked to yesterday. They were chatting to her happily like they were good friends, but Clint could tell something was wrong. He couldn't put his finger on what exactly, but something about the way Natasha was looking at them and kept glancing fervently around the room wasn't right.

Maybe he was watching her for too long, because Agent Collins nudged him and nodded in her direction, smirking. "Never seen her here before." He commented, before surveying her not-so-subtly.

Clint tried to give a careless "Hmm," but between worry for Natasha, panic because he'd been caught out and annoyance at the hungry look was giving her, the sound that came out of Clint's mouth wasn't recognised in any language Clint had heard.

"Crap, where did she come from?" Agent Campbell piped in.

"Tell me about it." Collins muttered. It was pretty lucky Clint's hands were behind his back, so no one could see him clench his fists.

Natasha was handed something, and once she took it Clint could see that her hands were shaking. What the hell was wrong with her? He wanted to pull her aside, but that was obviously out of the question, so he watched her carefully as the scientists started making their way to Subject C's room.

Nobody seemed to notice anything out of the ordinary about Natasha's behaviour. When they reached the chamber, Evans and Campbell held the door open for the stream of scientists. They swarmed into the room and began to set up camp for their fun day out of the lab.

Natasha was about to step through the doors when she froze. Her gaze was fixed on Subject C, the guy with the metal arm. His bed had been elevated so he was more upright, and the first thing someone entering the room saw was his face. He was awake now, his face shining with sweat. He looked terrified, but nowhere near as terrified as Natasha. She looked like she was hyperventilating. Clint was worried she might be having a panic attack, because he had never seen his partner looking so scared.

"Katy, are you alright?" A woman asked softly. Natasha ignored her.

Her whole body seemed to be trembling. Instinctively, Clint stepped forward to comfort her, which probably would have gotten them killed had Agent Collins not beaten him to it. Collins patted her on the shoulder, saying, "No worries, you're okay. Some people have that reaction when they first see him, it's a little disturbing. Come on." He smiled.

Natasha took a deep breath and seemed to regain her composure. "Yeah, he's kind of scary." She agreed. Had he not been so worried, he would have laughed at her response. Everyone else seemed satisfied, Natasha's friends taking her arms and coaxing her into the room, everyone resuming what they were doing. Clint was not convinced at all. There was still something seriously wrong. He kept an eye on her throughout the day, but she wouldn't look at Clint, or Subject C, and made a point of keeping her distance from both of them. Staying in the corner, she looked through some paperwork and avoided talking to anyone.

Clint tried to tune out everything that morning, everything they did to that man, but it was hard to ignore what was going on. He knew what he should be doing. He should be sticking an arrow through the heart of everyone in this room who thought this was okay. Not pretending to be one of them.

After the scientists had finished, the agents lead them back to their lab, leaving Subject C unconscious behind them. The lead scientist guy gave a pep talk. "We're not all the way there yet. I think the increased levels of selenium helped, but I also think the incubation period might have been too long. Next time we should trial it quicker. For now, we'll put him back in the cryogenic chamber…" Clint found it extremely hard to listen to the science stuff, and he noticed Natasha wasn't, either. She was staring at her feet with an emptiness that Clint hadn't seen in her in a long time. They arrived back at the lab.

"Who is that guy? Subject C or whatever?" Clint asked the other agents, while the scientists scienced.

"The Winter Soldier."

"The who?"

"He's a weapon. He's done two dozen assassinations in the last fifty years, and those are just the ones people know about." Campbell told him, with a note of awe in his voice.

"He's fifty?" Clint asked disbelievingly.

"Maybe older. I dunno, do I? You just hear stories about this stuff." He said.

They reached the science lab, and the scientists returned to their stations. Clint regarded Natasha. He couldn't see why this guy would upset her, but he needed to find out. Worst case scenario, she'd blow her cover and get herself hurt.

An idea crossed his mind. Once there were a few scientists around her, he made his way over. Making a point of being loud enough that the other agents heard, but quiet enough that he looked like he wanted this to be private, he said. "Hey, Katy, right? You feeling okay? I know that guy freaked you out before."

She glared at him, sending a very clear message: _Fuck off now before you screw my mission up._ "I'm fine, thanks. Really, it was just shock."

"Totally understandable. I'm Aiden, by the way." Clint told her. He hadn't done this in a while.

She smiled, but Clint could tell she wanted to kill him right now. "Nice to meet you."

"You too. I was thinking, maybe you'd like to go get a drink later? Might be good after today." Even though this was Natasha, and he knew she wasn't going to reject him (probably), he still wanted to bang his head against a wall right now.

"Sure." Natasha said, glaring at him suspiciously. "That'd be great."

* * *

><p>Clint knew exactly where he was taking Natasha, but he passed it off as though he just stumbled across a bar. Nobody needed to know why he knew this area so well, especially Natasha, who seemed to have her own problems. He quickly sat her down and bought them both drinks, keeping up the act in case anyone they knew was there. Once they were both sat down at their own table and had about as much privacy as they were going to get, he dropped it.<p>

"What the hell happened today, Nat?" he demanded.

She sighed. "I had no idea it was the same person." She said, more to herself than to Clint.

"Nat." He said, trying to bring her back to earth. "What's going on?"

Looking at him like she was only just registering his presence, she said, "I hate this, Clint. It's wrong. It's like being back in the Red Room. And being in that room… like, actually hearing him, and helping the people doing it… I know what it's like being the one strapped to the bed, Clint."

Clint hated how broken and hopeless his partner's voice sounded. It hadn't even occurred to him that this would affect her.

"They did that to you?" He asked quietly. Natasha had hinted many times that her life had been brutal before they'd met, but she'd never really given details of what they'd done to her.

She nodded. "But it's not just that. I _know_ that guy."

"The Winter Soldier?" Clint asked.

"Who?" she said, confused.

"They told me that's what they call him. Sounds more human than Subject C, anyway."

"Well, yeah. I was on a mission a few years ago, escorting a nuclear engine out of Iran. Things started to go south, and he was there. He shot straight through me. I've still got the scar on my stomach." She told him.

"The one above your hip?"

"When have you seen that?"

"Let's stay focused here, Natasha."

"I know that was him, but at the time he was wearing a mask. But I know his face, Clint..." she muttered.

"From where?"

"Somewhere in the KGB, I…" she struggled.

"So he worked for them too? Who the hell is he?" he asked.

"I don't know, Clint. I don't remember." She snapped, putting her head back in her hands. If Clint wasn't mistaken, she looked very close to tears.

This was not the Natasha he was used to. He wanted to help her, but didn't know how to without making her feel worse. She was probably already beating herself up for showing any emotion. "Tasha…" He breathed softly, sliding around the table. Unsure of what to say, he just sat beside her for a minute. "I must look like a really awesome date right now." he muttered. She lifted her head and smiled a little. They sat in silence for a while.

"You seen the Stark tech they're working on?" Natasha asked miserably.

"Yeah. Fury won't be too worried; they're just working off trash." Clint said confidently.

"Trash? I've seen fully constructed suits." Natasha informed him.

"Seriously?" Clint asked grimly. "We can't let them keep that up. I don't trust Stark with that thing, never mind these guys."

"Tell me about it." she muttered bitterly.

He placed his hand on top of hers. "Hey. You know it's for the better, right? By doing this we're stopping these people."

"I guess." She pushed a lock of hair off her face behind her ear.

Clint struggled to find something else comforting to say. He noticed they were almost holding hands, and he was sure he hadn't been this close to her when they'd first sat down. She should've at least judo flipped him by now. "Um…"

"I just want to get this over with. Wiping their systems isn't a problem; it's destroying all of their physical evidence without them noticing. That's just not going to happen."

"Yeah." He said, having not really been listening. _Cool it, Clint, _he thought_, you've slept on top of her._

She sipped the remainder of her drink. "We should go. I never get enough sleep here." Natasha said. "I'm pretty sure they've got surveillance in my apartment, you know."

"They have." He informed her.

She rolled her eyes. "Fantastic." She got up from her chair. "See you tomorrow, then, maybe." A few other people hoping to get their table started watching them, so she leant closer and lowered her voice. "Please try and find out who that guy is, Clint."

Finding her breath on his skin a little distracting, he mumbled, "Yeah."

She turned and left the bar, leaving Clint more troubled than before. Natasha was usually the one who kept all her emotions in check, had everything under control. Now, she was clearly freaked out by this mission, so he was going to have to do her job. He was going to push aside _everything_ he was feeling. He had to get this job done, for both his and Natasha's sake.


	60. Day 4, Operation Regrowth

Natasha's head was pounding. She'd heard about amputees having phantom pain, where they could feel the pain of a limb that wasn't there. That's how her head felt. She knew there was a memory somewhere. Something to do with the Winter Soldier, something to do with the Red Room. But it wasn't there; her mind had been wiped clean, giving her this horrible feeling of déjà vu that she couldn't escape, being in an environment pretty much identical to the original.

"Katy, are you okay? You look really pale." Alice asked, jolting her out of her thoughts.

"I always look pale." Natasha told her dismissively.

"You look paler." She corrected herself.

"How'd your date go last night?" Rob asked suggestively. "Agent Harris, wasn't it?"

Natasha shot him a withering look.

"Just saying, you're a bit quick off the mark." He said.

"He's new here, too, isn't he?" Alice asked.

"I dunno, they swap them out all the time." Rob muttered.

Keeping her head down, Natasha quietly continued cataloguing blood samples.

"We're so close, guys, I know it." Alice said excitedly.

"I know, did you see Subject C yesterday?" Rob asked.

"Who _is_ he?" Natasha inquired.

"No idea." Alice shrugged.

"It's not really ideal for us, trying to work without a complete medical history." Rob told her bitterly. "They don't really care about that though, so we've just got to work with what we've got."

"But what are they going to do with him?" Natasha said.

"I dunno, it'll be some secret government thing or something." Alice suggested, avoiding Natasha's eyes.

"Do they look like the government to you?"

Rob shrugged and looked away uncomfortably. "Whoever they are, we're the ones making the serum. We're doing all the work. We'll get the credit."

"We'll be so rich." Alice added.

"But Subject C-" Natasha began.

"We're not paid to worry about who he is, Katy." Rob reminded her. "Ask your new boyfriend." He added suggestively. "Can't believe you're already sleeping with the agents." He chuckled. "You've been here three days." Natasha rolled her eyes.


	61. Day 5, Operation Regrowth

After five days of learning fairly little about this place, Clint decided it was time to take some action. He hated being _here, _in this area. He doubted even Fury realised where he'd sent him. It was so close to… He pushed it out of his mind. The quicker he found out who this organisation was, the quicker he could get out of there.

The place was almost empty; everyone had gone home for the night. The few people still around didn't pay much attention to him. He only went through doors that were clearly open, not wanting to raise suspicion by being caught trying to open a locked door.

As he turned another corner, he glimpsed the tail of a white lab coat disappearing through a door. He followed the sounds of footsteps into a dark, empty room. Unfortunately, the scientist he was following was not Natasha, as he'd hoped. She turned on a computer in the corner of the room and started working, oblivious to his presence. Clint's attention was immediately drawn to the centre of the room. There was a row of metal soldiers lined up, lit only by the dim light of the scientists computer. Their heads were tiny in comparison to their huge bulky bodies. They didn't have the sleek design that Iron Man's suit did, but they looked a hell of a lot more dangerous, Clint noted, looking at the weapons attached to almost every limb.

"It's been corrupted, yeah." Clint jumped. For a moment he'd forgotten the scientist, who still hadn't noticed him. Silently, he crept behind the row of robots to listen. She was on the phone to someone, whilst typing at light speed on the computer.

"The file? No, I'll just replace it." The scientist murmured. Whilst the person on the other end spoke, all he could hear was the tapping of the keyboard.

"As if, look at what happened to the twins." She said. Clint heard footsteps from outside the room, but the robots blocked his view of the door. He could still see the scientist, though, who looked up. "Evening, sir."

"Is everything sorted?" Asked a deeper voice.

"Yeah, it's fine, just a-"

"HEY! You!" A man appeared around the row of suits, glaring at Clint. Before Clint could fight back, the man grabbed him by the neck and threw him up against the wall. "What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded.

"I'm just looking-"

"Bullshit!" the man shouted. "You think I don't know where my agents are stationed? You are not supposed to be here! Who are you?"

"I was just looking be-"

"There's nothing to see down here! You're a spy, aren't you? Who are you working for?"

In the corner of his eye, Clint saw the scientist hurriedly gathering papers. The man turned to her. "You! Get out!"

The scientist quickly obeyed, getting out of the room as quick as she could without looking like she was running.

"I asked you a question!" the man shouted. "Who are you working for?"

"You!" Clint pushed the man away from him. "I work for this agency. I was watching the surveillance tapes and thought I saw something down here. I came to check, but it was nothing."

The agent watched him suspiciously. "Then why were you sneaking around behind the suits?"

"I was looking at them. They're copies of Stark's stuff, aren't they?" Clint asked. The man said nothing, but watched him carefully. "Awesome. I hate that guy."

"You do?"

Clint wasn't sure where he was going with this, but he was hoping he worked it out before he got there. "Listen. I'm not working for anyone except this company. If this is all to get Stark, I want in, but everyone acts like they're in some creepy cult and I'm not really sure what this place is. When do you start to trust me?"

The man relaxed a little, but still looked cautious. "Listen, we don't just give away ourselves away like that. That's how things go wrong. But you show promise. Just hold out, okay? Show us that we can trust you. Don't go creeping around in classified areas."

Clint actually thought such a good improvised speech deserved at least a little information, but he didn't want to push his luck. "Yes, sir."

The man clapped him on the back and led him back to the surveillance room. Clint went along with him, but wondered apprehensively how much longer he'd have to stay here to gain their trust.


	62. Day 6, Operation Regrowth

Natasha still hadn't worked out the best way to destroy all of their work and wipe their data. Of course, she could do it right now if she wanted, but she knew there wasn't much chance that she'd get out without being caught. She wanted to give Clint enough time to get his info before he blew his cover and blundered in trying to help her.

Natasha started to walk over to Alice and Rob, who were whispering to each other in a corner with a third woman that Natasha didn't know. "Katy, did you hear?" Alice asked.

"Hear what?"

"About that guy you went on a date with? What was his name? Something Harris?" Rob asked.

Natasha opened her mouth. She wasn't really sure what to say. She'd forgotten Clint's alias. "What about him?"

"Sarah just told us. She was working late last night, and she saw one of the bosses catching him sneaking around." Alice told her.

"What?"

"This agent came up to him and slammed him up against the wall and started shouting and asking him who he worked for." The woman called Sarah informed her.

"Apparently they think he's a spy or something." Rob said.

Natasha's mind started working furiously. Clint had broken his cover. She needed to work out the best way to finish her job _now._ Hopefully, if they suspected he was a spy, they'd be trying to get information out of him and she could still help him. Otherwise…

First, she had to be Katy. She tried to look moderately shocked, but didn't try too hard. After all, Katy had only been on one date with this guy. "Seriously?"

Rob nodded.

"He seemed so nice." Natasha said regretfully.

"At least you only saw him once. Otherwise you'd have been dragged into it all." Alice speculated.

"I suppose. Oh well." Natasha said. Thinking fast, she asked, "When should I bring the samples up from Roberts' lab?"

"Why would you do that?" Alice asked. "We're keeping them down there for at least another-"

"We're reducing the incubation period a little more." Natasha invented. "He told us this morning."

Unsurprisingly, all three of them had completely blank faces. "That must have been before we got in."

"Oh yeah, it was." Natasha agreed. "He asked me to get the passcode from Wilson and bring them down here."

As expected, Rob took out a scrap piece of paper and pen, and told her, "Don't bother with Wilson, I know the passcode."

Thanking him, she pocketed the piece of paper and headed over to the bottles of serum they kept in this lab. Without hesitating, she piled the samples onto a tray and began to walk out of the room as normally as possible. None of the scientists had worked out what she was doing so far. She reached the end of the corridor before she heard someone shout, "Hey! Where are you taking those?" One of the scientists caught up with her.

"I'm taking these samples down to Roberts." Natasha said, as if it should be obvious.

"Why are you doing that?" he demanded.

"That's what I was told to do." Natasha said defensively.

"Who told you to do that?"

"Roberts." She said impulsively. Natasha hoped that this Roberts had some kind of influence here; it was the only name she could remember right now from the other lab.

"Why exactly would he do that?"

"I don't know, ask him." Natasha shrugged. "You can explain why it took so long, as well."

The scientist backed down. "Fine. I have to check, you know?"

Natasha nodded and carried on walking. She wouldn't have much time before they realised what was going on. It wouldn't take a genius to work out who had destroyed all their work when they noticed the missing samples, but if Clint was in danger, she wasn't going to sit around thinking up a clever plan. She'd just have to hope she was long gone before they figured it out.

Once she got to the other lab, she used the passcode Rob gave her and collected the other samples. She wasn't a scientist, so she wasn't 100% sure what she had on her tray. She made sure she had all the actual samples. They only had small amounts of the correct serum, so the majority of what she was holding was either failed experiments or random chemicals. Still, it wasn't going to hurt anyone if she just got rid of it all.

Sitting down by a computer, she began to hack into the system. She was much more comfortable with this part, where she knew what she was doing. It didn't take her very long to wipe the system clean. Once she'd done, her mind immediately started wandering to where Clint might be. But she still had to get rid of all the samples.

Deciding to keep it simple, she headed for the nearest bathroom. She couldn't do anything in the labs where someone might see her. She'd have to hope that as long as she didn't act suspiciously, no one watching the CCTV would pay much attention to her or where she was going. After all, she was just carrying a tray of chemicals around a science lab.

Thankfully, the bathroom was empty, but there was no telling how much time alone she had. She began pouring everything into the sink as quickly as she could. Just as the contents of the last bottle dropped into the sink, she realised her mistake.

As the chemicals started mixing and hissing and giving off horrible smelling gases, Natasha wondered just how much acid she'd poured down the drain. She looked underneath the sink, where there were a few old looking pipes disappearing into the wall. The sounds she could hear weren't good.

"Crap." She muttered to herself. The pipe sounded like it was hissing, and as she took a closer look, she could see the metal dissolving and starting to leak. "Shit."

Rob had shown her some type of acid that could corrode metal really quickly. He'd called it a super acid. Had she poured that down the sink?

"Fuck!" she moaned. Something smelled really bad. She realised that she probably shouldn't be breathing in whatever gas was being given off.

She wished another scientist were here. Someone who actually knew science, and could do something more useful than swear at the pipe. Whatever was leaking out of it was starting to drip onto the other pipes and began eating away at them.

"Shit!" She swore again, as the acid stuff dissolved through the second pipe. It began hissing loudly, and started giving off a strong smell. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." It was obviously a gas pipe. She'd caused a gas leak. She swore some more.

Covering her mouth, she threw her lab coat over the pipes. She was sure that the acid would burn through it, and it probably wouldn't slow down the gas, but it made sense in her head. She left the bathroom and made her way down the corridor.

She needed to find Clint. But now, she also needed to tell someone about the gas pipe. She wasn't an expert, but she knew that a gas leak resulted in an explosion, and as much as she hated everyone here, it wasn't her job to execute them. That hadn't been her job since she'd met Clint. But telling anyone would lead to questions, and that would delay her from finding him. She made her decision. They were scientists, right? They knew what gas smelled like.

A few seconds too late, she noticed the footsteps from behind her. Before she could react, she was pinned up against the wall by two guys in the same uniform Clint wore, plus two behind them that were armed.

"Hey!" she shouted.

"Who are you?" One demanded.

"Get off me!"

"I said, who are you?"

"I work in the lab, my name's Katy-"

"Where's your lab coat? Your ID?" Another asked.

"In the bathroom." Natasha told him. "I think there's a-"

"Someone's hacked into our system." Another told her. "Someone in the lab. You were the only one on the surveillance cameras on a computer when it happened."

"And we saw you sneaking around with the serum."

"I didn't do anything, but-"

"Should we be doing this here?" one of them muttered to the others, nodding towards the nearest door. Natasha could hear voices behind it. The others shook their heads in agreement.

One of the men held her hands behind her and began to push her down the corridor. Just as she started to try putting up a fight, one of the others raised his gun and pressed it to her head. She stopped fighting.

As they walked, an alarm started to sound. Natasha inhaled sharply as the man's finger tensed around the gun's trigger at the loud noise, but he didn't fire.

"We need to get out of here." Natasha told them. "That's an alarm."

"They'll have sounded it when they saw us catching you on the surveillance. It means the place is on lockdown. Now shut up."

"There's a gas leak in the bathroom." Natasha said urgently. "It's a carbon monoxide alarm."

"We'd be getting evacuation alerts if there was a gas leak. Now unless you want to tell us about who you are, keep your mouth-"

"That is a carbon monoxide alarm." She told them through gritted teeth. "No one is going to try and evacuate the building if you've put it on lockdown."

"We're in a building of scientists." One guy growled. "If there was a gas leak, we'd have heard about it. Now you're going to walk quietly, and you're going to answer _our_ questions. Got it?"

* * *

><p>Clint was just coming off his break, when the guys on the surveillance shift asked him to take over. "We need to take care of something." They told him, and left without giving any more information.<p>

Clint didn't spend much time watching the camera feeds. Nothing much ever really happened on them. He spun around on his swivel chair for a while. He wondered if there was surveillance in the surveillance rooms. He felt sorry for the one who had to watch people watching cameras. They must be even more bored than he was right now.

Suddenly, an alarm sounded. He poked his head out of the door to see what was going on. A passing colleague said, "Just carry on working. It means we're on lockdown."

"Why?" Clint asked.

"Usually it means they've found an intruder. I guess that's where those guys went. Shouldn't you know? You're on surveillance, right?"

Clint gave a nervous laugh and ducked back into the room before he had to answer that question. An intruder? He scanned the screens for Natasha. She wasn't in the lab. After a moment, he found her being led by four guys to what looked like an awful lot like an interrogation room. She'd been caught.

He started to work out where she was, stood up and had his hand on the door before he remembered the last time he'd tried to help her. She'd told him very adamantly that sometimes she let people think they were winning, let them hurt her. Was that what this was?

They sat her in a chair and tied her up. '_From now on, if I say wait for a signal, wait for a signal!' _she had said. What signal should he be waiting for?

A man started shouting at her and slapped her across the face. Another had a gun trained on her. As they hit her, she gasped in pain. Did she want help or not?

He didn't care.

He locked the surveillance room door behind him, and made his way to the interrogation room. He'd worked out a basic idea of where it was from the tapes, but he still made a few wrong turns. It didn't really matter - nobody questioned him as long as he walked with purpose.

He reached the corridor outside the interrogation room. Surprisingly, there was only guy on the door. He didn't want to use his gun, because of the noise (_a problem he never had with a bow and arrow,_ he thought bitterly)_._ Staying round the corner, he walked in a circle as loudly as he could, trying to get his attention. When the guard came to the corner to investigate, Clint punched him hard into the wall, knocking him out. He took the guy's gun for when he got to Natasha; and his key card to get into the room.

He knew whereabouts everyone was from the camera feed. Natasha was tied up fairly loosely, so once he got the guards distracted, she wouldn't have much trouble getting free. There were three guys in there with her, all armed. Bracing himself, he used the key card and opened the door.

He used their moment of confusion to slide the gun across the floor to Natasha. Instinctively, one of the other guards went to shoot Clint, but Clint had already grabbed the nearest guy from behind, holding him around his neck. The bullet hit Clint's human shield and he dropped to the floor. The shooter raised his gun again, but Clint was already moving towards him. He started to wrestle the gun away and caught sight of Natasha, who had broken free and had the other guy pinned on the ground, a gun trained on his head. She stood up and kicked him hard in the head, knocking him unconscious. Clint quickly slammed his guy against the wall, and turned to Natasha.

"You okay?"

She nodded. "You?"

"Yeah. We need to get out. I locked the door to the surveillance room, but they'll find us soon anyway." Clint told her urgently.

She nodded. "Clint, we need to get the whole building out. There's a gas leak, but everyone thinks the alarm means we're on lockdown."

"Right. Come on."

He led her through the corridors, knowing the building better than her. Natasha wanted to evacuate the building, but frankly all Clint cared about was getting the two of them out safely. He didn't know how to get anyone to listen to two intruders, anyway. Clint now had a fair bit of blood on him, and Natasha had a large scratch across her face, and bruises down her arms. He doubted anyone would believe the alarm wasn't caused by them.

Whenever they came across anyone, they told them to get out or dealt with them as quickly as possible. Fortunately, there weren't many – hopefully they'd listened to the screaming alarm and gotten out of the building, but the calmness of the people they _did_ come across didn't give him much hope. Clint could now definitely notice that smell of gas, and was starting to get a nasty headache. He kept trying to steer Natasha towards the exit, but she seemed intent on going back to the science lab. The closer they got to the lab, the worse the smell got.

"Nat, we need to go!" he shouted over the alarm.

"We need to make sure they get out!"

"They'll know what the smell of gas is Nat, come on!" He didn't want to breathe this air any longer. He grabbed her hand and pulled her along. She followed him reluctantly. He doubted that they'd get out quick enough at this pace. Scanning the walls, he pulled her over to a fire alarm. He set it off. The sound joined the other alarm and pierced what was left of his eardrums, but Natasha seemed satisfied.

As they ran down a new corridor, a door burst open. A confused group of agents poured out of the room. "Hey! Stop!" one shouted. Clint kept running. They weren't that far from the exit now.

Soon enough, the agents started to catch up to them. They turned a corner to the exit of the building. More agents waited for them at the doors. He guessed he should have expected that, with half the building thinking they were on lockdown. Natasha dealt with them whilst he covered her, waiting for the others to appear round the corner.

Natasha made quick work of them, grabbed his arm and tried to pull him out of the door onto the street, but the group of agents following them appeared at that moment. Clint pulled his gun out and pointed at them. They were outnumbered, but now he just had to slow them down so they could get away the building. Just as he pulled the trigger, Natasha shouted "Clint, no!" But it was too late. As soon as the gun fired, Clint and Natasha were thrown out of the building onto the road outside. Clint's hearing aids seemed to short circuit for a moment as he saw the whole building light up and explode. Cars swerved everywhere around him.

Everything was confused. People everywhere were screaming and running. Clint could feel sharp pain all through his arms. They must have absorbed most of the shock when he was thrown back. The whole building in front of him was burning. His gun shot had ignited the gas leak, and caused an explosion.

Clint had been in this situation before, back in Bogota. The fire, the confusion, the pain. He'd felt completely helpless. He was determined not to be that helpless this time.

He looked to his left where Natasha last was. She was conscious, but looked like she was in pain. She definitely hadn't landed well. With a lot of difficulty, he helped her up. She had definitely broken some bones, but they couldn't let that slow them down. The enemy were confused right now, and they couldn't let go of this advantage. Clint pulled her along the street. She was obviously in a lot of pain, but she seemed to be pushing through. He led her into an alley and onto a different street.

"Clint, where are we going?" she groaned. "Do you even know where we are?"

"Just trust me, okay?" He muttered. "It's not too far away."

He had to take them the longer way, because he wanted to stay as hidden as possible. He hated it, because Natasha winced with every step. They struggled through a lot of side streets and alleyways, until the houses became sparser and the roads were quieter. Clint knew the exact way to get them out of the city and to a safe house where he could call Coulson. But Natasha was getting slower with every step.

He kept pushing her. They reached a completely empty road. On the other side, a grove of trees blocked the view of the house Clint knew stood behind them.

"Just through here." It was hard to get Natasha over the fence at the side of the road, but once they were over they just had to get through the trees.

Natasha was barely going anymore. He draped her arm over his neck to help support her. Once they got through the trees, the house was in sight. "Just up here, Nat, come on."

As they reached the door, a new thought occurred. What if someone had bought it? _No_, he decided. _Nobody would want this_ _dump_.

Clint didn't expect it to be locked, and he wasn't disappointed. He just hoped there was no one in there. He didn't have the energy to deal with anyone else right now. Natasha was leaning on his shoulder so heavily he doubted she was standing up on her own at all anymore. He led her through into the living room. The couch looked stained and broken, but he imagined it'd be the cleanest place he could find to let Natasha lie down. He took his jacket off for her to lie on, and helped her down. Almost as soon as her head hit his jacket, she passed out.


	63. Day 7, Operation Regrowth

Natasha woke up in immense pain. She wondered if she was dying. All of the bones in her body must be broken.

She tried to move, but she quickly gave up. It wasn't like she needed to be anywhere.

Without moving she could tell that she was lying on a couch. It stunk of alcohol and mould, and she really wished she could move. "Clint?"

"You awake?" Clint appeared from behind the sofa, pulling up a coffee table to sit near her. "I've called Coulson, he's on his way."

"Where are we?"

"My old house." Clint smiled bitterly. "Where I lived before my parents died. I only brought us here 'cause we needed to get off the streets – I didn't know how many of them got out yesterday. I figured they wouldn't be too happy with us."

"Maybe not." Natasha sighed.

He watched silently for a while, like he was trying to work something out. "Are you mad? 'Cause I tried to help?" he asked nervously.

"That'd make me a bit of a hypocrite." She smiled. "At least you got us out before the place blew up."

"No thanks to you." He teased. "You wanted to go back in."

"I wanted them to get out." She admitted. "They weren't all that bad. I might've killed them all."

"I was the one that fired the shot." Clint reasoned.

"Yeah, but I started the gas leak." She said. Already, the guilt started bearing down on her. "We really screwed this up."

"At least you did your bit. I didn't get anything on who they are. And I think we blew up any evidence."

Natasha thought about Alice and Rob. Had they got out of the building? She hoped so. What about the Winter Soldier? Had he been kept in the building? Even if he hadn't got away, the serum would have kept him alive.

"So no one lives here now?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Nah. When my parents died, I guess it went to Barney, but he'd never come back here." He told her. "An old abandoned farm, though, I imagine it's been used a lot. I just looked upstairs; I reckon it must have been used as a crack house. It's empty right now though. We can get out of here soon."

Natasha groaned. "Fury's going to kill us."

Clint smiled. "At least nothing's changed. Get some rest, Natasha, you deserve it."

It was hard, because every part of her hurt, but she did her best to close her eyes and try and get some sleep.


	64. July 28th, 15:00

Coulson had sat with the three of them in the hospital to do their debriefing. Clint was pretty sure that wasn't a good sign – obviously Fury was so pissed that he didn't even want to debrief them. They'd told him everything that had happened since the start of the mission. Clint knew they'd screwed up, but after hearing Natasha's side of the story, he couldn't help feeling a little better. Natasha had messed up just as much as him, and by the sound of things, she'd done it all because she thought he'd been caught. That made it a little better.

Coulson had been pretty cool about everything. Clint had enjoyed their little talk. He doubted he'd feel the same about the one he was about to have with Fury.

Reluctantly, he knocked on the door. When he walked in, he noticed his therapist sat in the corner. He nodded to say hello, but he hoped she wasn't staying for this. He never enjoyed the time he spent with her.

"Barton." Fury grunted. Clint took that as an invitation to sit down.

"Sir."

"Coulson's told me that you gained absolutely no information from this mission." Fury said, getting right to the point.

"Yeah, I did." Clint interjected. "They've got this really creepy philosophy-"

"Do you know who they are?" he interrupted.

"No, sir."

"Do you know how many different bases they have, or where they are?"

"No, sir."

"So did you gain any useful information from this mission?"

"…No, sir."

"Do you remember me saying that this was a_ top secret mission, _Barton?"

"Yes, sir." Clint figured it was best not to argue, and to just let Fury be angry at him.

"So what made you think it was a good idea to blow up a building?" Fury demanded.

"No idea, sir."

"Listen, Clint." Fury leaned forward. "I know you didn't mean to. I don't entirely blame you. But had you taken just a few seconds to work out a plan, instead of jumping in just because Romanoff was in danger, a lot of casualties would have been avoided. If you'd have thought it through properly, you could have contacted us and we could have helped her. You could have maintained your cover."

"If I hadn't gone to help her, I'd have got caught in the explosion." Clint pointed out.

"You caused the explosion Clint, if you hadn't gone to help her, there may never have been one." Fury told him impatiently. "Besides, you didn't know anything about it. So it doesn't make your thinking any more rational."

Clint gritted his teeth. "Yes, sir."

"I've got a new mission for you." Fury told him, taking him by surprise. He'd expected to be punished with a lot of time off and a new therapy schedule. "Not undercover work again. And on your own. I don't want you working with Romanoff anymore."

"What? For this mission?" Clint asked, though he was pretty sure he knew what Fury meant.

"For any of them, Clint. You're both better when you're working together, but you also become more of a liability. So from now on, I want you two on solo missions."

Clint wanted to argue. How could he not work with her? All he'd had to do for the past week was work in a different department to her, and he'd hated it. He opened his mouth to say something, but quickly closed it. When he'd first met her, one of the first things Natasha had told him was how she worked alone. He'd gotten so used to her, he'd forgotten that the only reason she put up with him was because Fury didn't trust her. She'd be delighted to hear that she could work on her own again. He didn't want to force her into staying with him, just because it was what he wanted. He wanted her to be happy.

"Yes, sir."

"You heard of Project P.E.G.A.S.U.S ?" Fury asked.

"I think so." Clint said. "Coulson mentioned it before we went to get Rogers."

"The Council pulled our funding to find the Captain, so we could work harder on Project P.E.G.A.S.U.S." Fury confirmed, pushing a file towards him. "The file explains everything, but we've found an energy source. It's called the Tesseract. It's potentially very powerful, and also very dangerous. I want you down there to keep an eye on things."

Clint took the file unenthusiastically. "Yes, sir."

"You don't need to go right away. It's all in the file. Hill will give you more info before you go."

"Yes, sir." Clint repeated.

"That's all, you can go. I need to talk to Romanoff."

* * *

><p>All morning, Natasha had been waiting for her meeting with Fury. She knew exactly what was coming. Everyone would think she'd screwed up on purpose, because at S.H.I.E.L.D, her reputation preceded her. She was the cold and heartless killer that finished her mission, regardless of the consequences.<p>

It took her a while to get up to Fury's office; having to hobble up there on crutches. As soon as she stepped in the room, she knew it was a mistake. Her therapist; her least favourite person at S.H.I.E.L.D was sat in the corner with her little notepad on her knee, watching her like an interesting experiment.

She sat across from Fury, and he watched her silently, like he was wondering where to start.

"I didn't mean to blow the place up." She blurted out, when she couldn't stand the silence any longer.

"I should hope not." Fury said coldly.

"It was all the stuff I poured down the drain. I panicked. It all kind of went downhill from there. How many people got out?"

"The majority of scientists did. A lot of the agents stayed in the building. You went about it the complete wrong way, Romanoff, but you got rid of their work. I suppose you deserve extra credit for getting rid of all of it. Though you did kill a few people in the process."

"I didn't mean to." Natasha said quickly. She could practically hear her therapist thinking, _homicidal maniac from the KGB._ "I wanted to go back and help them. It was an accident."

"I believe you." Fury said quietly.

"Did the Winter Soldier get out?" Natasha asked.

Fury raised an eyebrow. "Who?"

"The one they tested the serum on."

"We haven't found a body, but we're sure he didn't get out. We checked surveillance all around the area, he never left the building."

"I don't think he's dead, sir, if you haven't found a body. They did a lot of experiments on him-"

"He couldn't have survived that blast Natasha, not from the room he was in. I'm sorry."

"He could have, the scientists told me he's been working for like fifty years, without ageing or getting hurt, because of the serum." Natasha insisted.

"Clint told Coulson about that as well. But he also said that nobody really knew who he was, that it was just a rumour. Since we didn't see him leaving the building, and none of the bodies we've found have superpowers, I think that they made out they were a lot further on with the serum than they really were."

"I really don't think so, sir." She didn't know why she felt that way, but she was sure that he'd gotten out.

"This is guilt." Her therapist chimed in, pulling her chair forward out of the corner. "You feel guilty for the explosion, Natasha, you want them to have survived."

"That's not what it is." Natasha told Fury defiantly, refusing to look at her therapist. If she ignored her and just talked to Fury, maybe she'd go away.

"You felt sorry for him." Her therapist continued. "You want him to have survived. But that doesn't mean he did."

"Why are you here?" Natasha asked pointedly.

"I asked her." Fury told her. "Coulson said you'd had some trouble with the whole set up of that place, particularly with the serum guy. I've booked you in for some sessions with her, so I thought it'd be useful for her to see this, 'cause I know you're not the most helpful when she's trying to work with you."

"I don't need therapy sessions." Natasha said through gritted teeth.

"You and Clint both described symptoms of PTSD in your behaviour when you saw this man. You've been forced for the past week to live in an environment almost identical to what you've experienced in the past, but with a different victim. And you just blew up a building, killing lots of people – something you've not done since you worked for the KGB. You're going through an awful lot, Natasha, you do need therapy sessions."

Natasha wished she'd never spoken to Coulson. She should have kept her mouth shut. "I'm not… I don't need therapy. I don't have PTSD and this isn't guilt."

"Then that's even more worrying." Her therapist said gravely. Natasha was ready to strangle her, when Fury interrupted.

"This isn't a therapy session. This is a briefing. I have a mission for you." He told her.

"Wh- A mission?" Natasha asked, completely bewildered. "You've just finished telling me I need therapy!"

"You won't be leaving right away. You'll need some time to get prepared. It's undercover work – nothing like the last one, not very dangerous. It'll keep you busy, but give you time to recover. I need someone watching over Stark, before he kills himself."

"Stark?" Natasha groaned.

Handing her a file, he said, "It's all in there. You really think we'd let him run around on his own with that suit?"

Natasha knew what this meant: she was _babysitting._ She doubted that anything interesting would happen there at all. Flicking through the file absentmindedly, she asked, "What about Clint?"

"What about Clint?" Fury asked, raising his eyebrow.

"What's he doing? Is he going to Stark too?" Natasha asked. She was sure she'd have heard about it by now if Clint had to go undercover as Tony Stark's secretary.

"No, he's on a different mission. You two will be working alone from now on."

"Until when?"

"Indefinitely." Fury said cautiously.

"Why? I thought we were partners." Natasha demanded.

"Not anymore."

"But we work well together!" Natasha argued.

"Maybe a little _too _well." Fury suggested.

Natasha took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. It was hard with her therapist scribbling on her notepad in the corner of her vision. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know perfectly well what I mean." He told her pointedly. "I expect my agents to know the difference between helping their partner and rushing in to save them, Romanoff."

"I thought he'd been caught. I was trying to help him." Natasha insisted.

"You blew up the entire building!" Fury was starting to raise his voice now.

"Not on purpose!" Natasha unconsciously raised her voice higher. "He did the same when he saw me in danger!"

"Yes I know, and he killed a man!" Fury exclaimed impatiently. "You're only half of the problem. I don't know what you two have got going on, but it's a liability and it's interfering with your work. If all my agents made this much of a mess every time someone was in danger, this organisation would not be a secret!"

"You put me with him!" Natasha accused him. "The only reason we were partnered up was because you were afraid I was going to kill everyone. If I'd have ignored it and carried on when I thought he was in danger, you'd be saying that I was still working like I did in the KGB! Do I help people or not? You're not going to trust me either way, are you?" she demanded.

"I do trust you, Natasha." He told her seriously. "One hundred percent. I'm confident that you'll always act in S.H.I.E.L.D's best interests. Just not when Agent Barton's around."

Natasha felt like throwing something. First the therapist, now Fury. If there was one thing she hated, it was people telling her what she was feeling, trying to analyse her. That was her job. She watched people. She didn't want people watching her, trying to work her out. Especially when they got it all wrong. "I was acting out of a _professional _interest for my partner, who _you_ put me with. I screwed up, but that's not because- that's because I didn't know how to deal with a broken gas pipe. Don't act like you know what's going on in my head! I don't-"

"Stop it, Natasha. I'm not insulting you. But you're not working together anymore; it's maladaptive at best and dangerous at worst. Face it. You're compromised."

Natasha hadn't been this angry in a long time. She couldn't stand Fury looking at her so patronisingly, like she was a child having a tantrum. She hated the therapist scribbling away on her notepad. She couldn't see what she was writing, but she doubted it was '_mentally stable.' _ She knew that all she was doing was proving them all right, but she didn't care. She stormed out of the room as quickly as she could on crutches, slamming the door behind her.


	65. July 29th, 4:08

Clint wasn't sure why he was up here.

Since his meeting with Fury earlier – _yesterday,_ actually, he'd been hiding up on the roof. He wanted to go inside; it was freezing. The rain was so light that it could have been mist, which annoyed him. The floor was cold and hard. He was uncomfortable and incredibly bored, not to mention hungry.

Yet he'd sat up here for hours, because he didn't want to deal with inside. Rumour would have spread by now about how they'd screwed up the mission; exaggerated rumours, probably. He didn't want people staring at him. He also didn't want to run into Hill, who would want to talk about his mission. And he didn't want to see Natasha.

First thing he'd learned about her: the Black Widow works alone. Now, she'd finally gotten rid of him. But he couldn't be happy for her. It wasn't like they were just working alone from now on. Natasha liked undercover missions – that meant deep cover, months or even years of radio silence. He wasn't looking forward to that.

Behind him, he heard banging from the trap door that led to the roof. For a moment, he wasn't sure who it was; he didn't know anyone who made so much noise. Then he remembered.

"Natasha, your leg is _broken._ You can't climb ladders." He called, standing up to go and help her.

"It's not broken, it just needs rest." Natasha argued.

"I don't believe you."

"What are you doing up here?" she asked.

He shrugged as he walked her over to where he'd been sat.

"Thinking about the mission?" she asked.

That had been the least of his worries, but he nodded anyway. "Uh, yeah."

"Me too. They won't believe me about the Winter Soldier." She told him.

"Oh." Clint wasn't sure what else to say. He hadn't given the Winter Soldier a thought since they got out. Frankly, he had more important things on his mind, and he was waiting for her to bring those up.

"Are you okay?" Natasha asked concernedly.

"'Course." He grunted.

"Did Fury tell you about how we've been separated?"

There it was. Putting all of his effort in to make sure he didn't sound bitter, he said, "Yeah. Guess you finally get to work on your own." he tried to smile, but didn't feel like it was working.

"What do you mean?"

"I know you never wanted to have a partner." He said, fiddling with his bow. He'd brought it up here thinking he might get some target practice done, a plan which had definitely failed. "Now you don't need one."

To his surprise, Natasha looked quite offended. "I liked working with you. I didn't want to be split up. I actually shouted at Fury a little when he told me."

"Really?" A real smile started creeping onto his face.

She nodded. "Did you get a mission?"

His smile disappeared incredibly quickly. "Yeah. You?"

She nodded. "Stark." She grimaced. "I've got to go undercover as his _personal assistant_." She practically spat out the words.

"Why?" He demanded. The idea made him a little angry, mainly because he didn't think that Stark's idea of a 'personal assistant' would include tasks such as filing and running errands. "Have you got to try and take his suit or something?"

She shook her head. "Fury doesn't want him as an enemy. He wants me to keep an eye on him, and evaluate him for this thing Fury's setting up." she told him. "I hate my cover. I have to go to a photoshoot soon, because apparently I modelled in Tokyo."

"Well," he said, grinning, "I suppose, if this is our last mission together, I can come along to that and keep watch while you work."

"You are _not_ coming." She said, elbowing him in the ribs.

"How long are you going to be gone for?" He asked tentatively.

"I'm not sure. Hopefully I can evaluate him quickly, but I'll have to work there long enough to build up a cover. Anyway, what about you? Where are you going?"

"Just a surveillance job. Nothing too serious." He told her.

"When do you leave?" she asked, without looking at him.

"Soon. You?"

"As soon as my cover's sorted. And I bet I'll have to convince my therapist I'm mentally stable too." she added sourly.

"Did she stay for your meeting with Fury? She did for mine."

"Yeah." Natasha said shortly.

"She say anything?"

"Nope."

"Same here. I'm still not sure what Fury brought her there for." Clint said. He expected Natasha to answer, but she just stared silently at the skyline. It was beginning to get lighter now.

Clint wanted to say something. Something about how he didn't want to work alone, how he didn't want her working with Stark, he didn't want her to go away. If he'd have known she wanted to keep working with him, he'd have complained to Fury too. But he kept silent until Natasha said, "It's freezing up here." Which was odd, because Natasha never seemed to get cold.

"Yeah." He agreed. "You want to go back in?"

She nodded. Once they reached the trap door, he automatically started trying to help her, but she wanted to do it by herself. So he had to wait at the bottom of the ladders for her to struggle down them, almost breaking her leg all over again.


	66. August 4th, 13:18

"Are we nearly done?" Natasha asked impatiently.

"You've barely been here five minutes, Natasha." Her therapist sighed.

"So we're good? Excellent." Natasha stood up to leave, but her therapist called her back.

"Sit down, Natasha."

Natasha slumped back into her chair, and continued to stare at her. This room was her least favourite place at S.H.I.E.L.D. It seemed to be designed to have zero distractions – no windows, no paintings, nothing. Just her, a sofa, and her therapist.

"This will all go a lot quicker if you talk to me, you know." She said.

"I haven't got anything to say to you." Natasha replied.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine." Natasha said emotionlessly.

"No you're not."

"Okay."

"Have you spoken to Clint yet?" she asked.

"Yes." Natasha said.

"Have you talked to him about your mission?"

"Yes."

"Have you talked about why Director Fury has separated the two of you?"

Natasha didn't answer, continuing to stare at her.

"Why not?"

Natasha stared some more.

"Do you not feel comfortable talking to him?"

"I don't feel comfortable talking to you." Natasha retorted.

Her therapist took a deep breath, like it was taking all her willpower not to hit her. "You don't need to shut everyone out anymore, Natasha."

"I don't shut everyone out." Natasha told her defensively. "Nobody tries to get in."

"I am."

"You're paid to." Natasha said. "That doesn't count."

"You're not exactly an approachable person-"

"I could walk around handing out cupcakes, and everyone would still think I've poisoned them. Everyone here decided long before I arrived who I was."

"Who's that?"

"The Black Widow. I'm the murderer with no feelings, who's going to kill them all and hang their heads on my wall." Natasha smiled bitterly.

"I don't believe you care about what other people at S.H.I.E.L.D think. They're not who you're angry at." Her therapist decided.

"If you say so." Natasha said.

"Clint didn't think that." her therapist pointed out. "He didn't think you were a murderer with no feelings."

"Yes he did. He still does." Natasha said, annoyed. "He thought I'd be happy that we'd been split up. Because he still thinks I work alone and don't care about anyone."

Her therapist nodded. "So how do you feel now you've been separated?"

Natasha shrugged resignedly, remembering that she wasn't answering the questions. "I don't care."

"What do you care about, then?"

"I don't- Nothing, I just-"

"You don't care about anything?" her therapist interrupted.

Natasha shot her a dirty look. If she wanted to talk, she could at least let Natasha get her words out. "Caring is a weakness. I know you want me to have a load of secret feelings to talk to you about, but I don't. It just makes things harder."

"If feelings are weaknesses, why does it bother you so much that Clint doesn't think you have any?" Natasha stared at her, without replying. "You do care about things, Natasha, you're just trying to hide it. That's what makes things harder."

_She's persistent,_ Natasha thought; she had to give her that.

"Why don't you want to talk to Clint?" she asked.

Natasha rolled her eyes. "I have talked to him."

"About what Fury said to you."

Natasha didn't say anything.

"Fury wants to help you, you know. But he's stuck. He doesn't want to separate you, but he doesn't want to keep you together. He can't work out exactly what your relationship is. No one can. And you don't make it any easier."

"We're partners."

"Not anymore." Her therapist reminded her.

"Guess not." Natasha said coolly.

"I know you're not going to talk to me properly, Natasha, but-"

"Then why am I here?" Natasha demanded. "Why are we bothering?"

"Because you need to talk to _someone_. I know you have trouble trusting people, and I don't blame you for that. You've been through a lot. I can't pretend to understand what the KGB was like, or running away from them, or your last mission. But whether you like it or not, you've suffered a lot on this mission. It reminded you too much of your past, and this guilt about the Winter Soldier or whatever he's called isn't healthy either. You need to talk to someone about it, Natasha. If not me, someone that you trust. If that's all I get you to do through these sessions, then I'll be happy."

Natasha stared at her.

"Go on. We'll leave it here for today." Her therapist sighed.

Natasha nodded. She stood up, grabbed her crutches and left. For once, she almost felt sorry for her. She was just trying to do her job, after all, and Natasha was the most difficult patient ever. If only she could give decent advice, Natasha might even be able to tolerate their sessions. But Natasha was not going to talk to Clint about the mission or the KGB or her _feelings. _They both knew why they'd been separated; there was no need to make things awkward by discussing about it.

If someone wanted to talk to her, they could talk to her about the fact that the Winter Soldier was alive. She knew it. She just wished she had away to prove it, to prove that it wasn't guilt. If her therapist talked to her about _that_, Natasha would be willing to book extra sessions.

As she hobbled down the corridor on her crutches, Natasha saw Coulson heading into his office. _Someone that you trust. _It couldn't hurt to try the advice, she supposed. Purely for the purpose of proving her therapist was wrong.

Acting on impulse, she headed down the corridor. Clint trusted Coulson, right? She pushed the door open. He looked up from his desk, surprised. "Agent Romanoff." He smiled, when Natasha didn't say anything. "Is something wrong?"

"No." Natasha had already forgotten why she'd even come in here.

"Can I help you with anything?"

"No." Natasha repeated.

"Do you want to sit down?"

She actually wanted to leave and was regretting this already. But it was too late to back down now, so she sat down across from him. She propped her crutches up against the side of Coulson's desk.

"Are you going to give me a clue?" Coulson asked. He smiled kindly.

There was a knock on the door, and Maria Hill stepped in the room, carrying a heap of paperwork. She looked at Coulson, her eyes darting to Natasha, asking him a silent question. Coulson nodded and she pulled up a chair next to Natasha. Dumping the paperwork on Coulson's desk, she said, "From Fury."

"Excellent." Coulson said drily. Natasha's eyes darted to the paperwork. Subtly, Coulson began piling his things on top to hide the content from her.

Hill turned to Natasha as Coulson got his things sorted. "I heard you had a rough mission."

Natasha shrugged, resisting the urge to glance at the door. She was uncomfortable, wondering what she'd gotten herself into, but she wasn't going to show it. She wasn't sure she trusted Coulson, never mind Hill. She'd barely ever spoken to the woman. "It was fine. I just screwed it up a little."

"Don't worry. We've all been there." Coulson assured her.

"I once led an entire team to an assault on the wrong facility. We scared the hell out of some accountants." Hill grinned.

"Once I set one of my agents on fire." Coulson admitted.

"Barton?" Hill asked.

"Who else?" Coulson sighed exasperatedly. Natasha grinned. Just a little.

"Anyway, Coulson, about these." Hill cleared Coulson's things away from the paperwork so she could talk business. "He wants to know how close you are." Natasha caught her pointing at the initials T.A.H, before she remembered that she was trying to gain their trust. They wanted privacy. She turned away and focused on Coulson's desk.

"Close-ish." Coulson informed her. Natasha found a pile of immaculate Captain America trading cards on his desk and shuffled through them. "We're getting somewhere, but I'm not sure if it's anywhere good."

"Are you working on it now?"

"No, I've something else today. You got the day off?" He asked, turning to Natasha.

She nodded. "I just got away from my therapy session."

Both Coulson and Hill gave an irritated look that Natasha could easily relate to. "Those are the worst." Coulson said.

"Let me guess, you're emotionally unstable and keeping everything in is self-destructive." Hill predicted.

"Pretty much."

"Everyone gets the same. Those sessions drive me insane." Hill said.

Natasha nodded, neglecting to mention that she was here on her therapist's orders. "She thinks that I feel guilty about the Winter Soldier, which is why I think he's alive." She told them, surprising herself. She hadn't been intending to share that.

"The Winter Soldier?" Hill asked.

"The man they were testing their serums on." Coulson informed her. "Subject C in the report."

"You don't think he's dead?" Hill inquired.

"No," Natasha said, annoyed. Clearly, her concerns hadn't been put on the record. "They haven't found a body. He's not dead."

"But we had surveillance around the area." Hill argued. "If nobody saw him escape, then…" Hill's voice faded out as Coulson shot her a poorly concealed warning look. "I suppose you were there, not us." Hill shrugged.

Natasha wasn't stupid. Obviously, they were just humouring her. Still, that was more courtesy than anyone else here had shown her.

"You really don't know where you know him from?" Coulson asked gently.

"Somewhere in the KGB - I don't really remember anything…" Natasha struggled.

"It's okay." Hill said. "Did they wipe your memories or something?"

"If that's a thing." Natasha said confusedly. "Or I just blacked everything out."

"At least you don't have to remember what happened. The mission would have been even harder." Coulson reasoned.

"I still messed it up." Natasha admitted. "Even before I blew the building up, when I saw him, I just kind of…"

"The report says you had a panic attack." Hill told her.

"I lost control." Natasha confessed.

"No one's blaming you." Coulson assured her. "You still got the job done. That's what counts."

"What you need is another mission. Get your mind off the last one." Hill recommended.

"I have one. Undercover work at Stark Industries."

"Should be easy for you." Coulson said. "You won't have any trouble getting to Stark."

"I can imagine." Natasha said sarcastically.

Standing up, Hill smirked. "I've got to go, but when either of you see Barton, tell him I need to see him. I think he's avoiding me." Nodding to the both of them, she left the room.

Natasha would never say it out loud, but maybe her therapist had a point. Sure, to Hill and Coulson it was just small talk, and they'd hardly discussed anything her therapist wanted Natasha to talk about, but they'd talked. It had been… normal. Hill had talked to Coulson about something that was obviously classified in front of her. Coulson wasn't even a little bit scared of her anymore. It was as if Natasha was no longer the KGB assassin that couldn't be trusted. Like she was a real part of S.H.I.E.L.D when Clint wasn't there.

"So Natasha, what can-" Coulson looked down at her hands. "Are those my Captain America trading cards?"

"Oh, yeah, I was just-"

"Be careful!" he reprimanded.

"I am, they're fine!" Natasha argued.

"You're bending them!" He snatched them off her. "Honestly, you're as bad as Barton."

"I didn't do anything! They're still in perfect condition."

"And I'd like them to stay that way." He told her sternly. His anger quickly melted away, however, as he looked down at the cards. "I'm hoping he can sign them. You know, C-"

"Captain America, yeah, I know." Natasha finished. "Have you met him yet?"

"Not yet. Fury sent him off to a retreat we have for powered people. But if he works for S.H.I.E.L.D, I'm sure I'll run into him at some point or another."

"Exciting." Natasha smirked, and Coulson rolled his eyes.

Deciding that she'd been here long enough, Natasha stood up to leave. "Uh, I'm gonna go now." She announced awkwardly, picking up her crutches.

"Wait, Natasha, what did you come here for?" Coulson asked confusedly.

"Nothing." Natasha assured him. "It doesn't matter. Thanks."

Coulson looked confused, but he smiled at her as she pushed the door open. She hobbled down the corridor, thinking that perhaps, the day with her therapist hadn't been a complete waste of time.


	67. August 15th, 11:36

Slumped on his bed, buried in a pile of spare clothes, Clint half-heartedly began to fold Natasha's jeans. "You're gonna call me, right?" He asked. He placed them in her bag.

"Yes." She sighed, rummaging through his sock draw for something, having already searched through all his others. Clint wasn't sure what she'd hidden in there, but she clearly hadn't found it.

"Promise?"

"Yes, Clint." She said exasperatedly. "I'll call you the moment something interesting happens, I swear."

"But this is my point, Nat." He complained, heading to the bathroom. "You don't have to wait 'till something interesting happens. You can call just to say 'Hi'."

"Fine!" She muttered frustratedly. She'd now managed to throw the majority of his things on the floor.

Rolling his eyes, he collected her toothbrush. He didn't care how annoyed she was, she was going to call him. He didn't know how long he was going to be stuck guarding Fury's new box, but he imagined that it wouldn't take long for him to get bored.

He shoved her toothbrush into a side pocket of her bag, watching her angrily empty his drawer and toss all of his socks onto the floor.

"What are you looking for?" He demanded.

"It doesn't matter; it's clearly not in here." She huffed irately, glaring at the drawer.

He zipped her bag shut, and picked it up to test the weight. "You need more stuff." He decided. Natasha still barely owned anything more than when she'd arrived at SHIELD – almost nothing. She only bought things that were absolutely necessary. Even then, she would try and borrow them off Clint first.

"I'm fine; I'm not planning on being gone for that long." She told him. "This'll do for a month."

"A month?" He exclaimed. "What are you going to do there for a full month?"

"Well, if I'm going to get into Stark Industries, work my way up, m-"

"Nat, I reckon you're overcomplicating this a little." He interrupted, slumping back down on the bed, resting his head against the wall. "Just _ask_ him. Stark doesn't strike me as a guy that'd turn down an offer to be in a group of superheroes."

"Fury's already tried that. Besides, I've got to evaluate him and check if we even want him." Natasha explained, sitting down next to him.

"And stop him from killing himself." Clint added.

"That too."

"I still think it would be easier for SHIELD to just take the suit and put an agent in it." Clint reasoned.

She raised her eyebrows sceptically. "You just want to try it on." She accused him.

"Of course I do." He said. "It's a _superhero_ suit, Nat. You want to try it on too."

She smirked. "When are you leaving?"

"Hill's taking me down soon." Since Hill was supervising the operation, he'd be heading out with her so she could explain everything to him when he first got there.

"Still no idea how long you're there for?" she asked.

He shook his head. "It's gotta be big, though, if they're getting everyone important involved. They're putting Hill on it, Coulson's been involved, me-"

"Don't be so modest, Clint." She told him sardonically, standing back up and slinging the strap of her bag over her shoulder. "Are you coming down?"

"Yeah." He stood up and scanned the room. "Have you got everything? I feel like you're forgetting something."

"I'm good." She said confidently, opening the door.

"Sure?" He asked, opening the drawers closest to him and peering inside.

"I'm fine." She told him confidently, her eyes rising to the ceiling. "Stop delaying, let's go."

"Delaying?" He scoffed, following her out of the door. "I can't wait to get rid of you, Romanoff."

They headed through the base to outside, where Natasha's new car was waiting. It was the standard SHIELD issue, except for the fact the giant eagle logo had been painted over. Clint could never work out why they had those. Did a secret agency need to advertise?

"Want me to drive down with you?" He offered. "I could help you unpack."

"I only have one bag, Clint. I think I'll be okay." She said sarcastically.

He held open the door for her to throw her bag in the back seat. "You sure?"

"I'm _fine._" She confirmed exasperatedly. She got into the driver's seat and started the engine, but left the door open. He leant his arm on the roof of the car. "Have fun with your box." She told him over her shoulder.

"Have fun with Tony Stark." He replied. He frowned at himself. "No, wait…"

She laughed. The engine revved.

"And call me." He reminded her. She threw her head back in exasperation. Smirking, he pushed the door shut and took a step back.

Giving her a wave, he mouthed _see you,_ as the car started to roll. She gave him a quick smile through the window, and drove away.

Clint looked up at the base, wondering how he was going to spend his time now until Hill was ready to go. Most likely, he'd be putting in a lot of hours at the archery range. He glanced back at the corner that Natasha's car had disappeared around. Distractedly, he took out his phone, turned the volume setting up, and headed back into SHIELD.


End file.
